Bits and pieces...

“What separates privilege from entitlement is gratitude.”

Brené Brown – Academic and social worker

Sometimes it seems there is so much to say; that words arrive at the front of my mind like a large group of people trying to all get out of a crowded room through a single door – grunting, groaning, pushing and shoving with no particular direction.  On the other hand, sometimes ideas and thoughts come smoothly, as though they are winding lines of folk queued up, patiently waiting their turn to slip from brain to keyboard.

Then there is the occasion when both of these circumstances occur at once.

Traveling around…

For the past couple of decades, when traveling overseas, I've written a travelogue that by now is distributed to 150 people. It's about the little things that capture my attention, or heart, as the days and experiences accumulate.

Sometimes the eye-catchers are small paintings on the museum walls of my life, which are internally recorded before being committed to electronic paper and placed in the artificial hard drives of my computer. I try to capture them as closely to the events as possible, because I have come to understand memory is often an unfaithful mistress, creating inaccurate reflections of events. I have discovered this when getting together with old friends, fondly recalling a shared experience, only to find their remembrance is NOTHING like mine. Somehow the incident changed in the ever-shifting neuro-synapses of my mind...of course, I suspect my accounts are more accurate…maybe.

I'm on the final leg of a three-week working tour through Europe. It began in Prague, then to Poznań, Poland, on to Aberdeen, Scotland and as I write, Aalborg, Denmark.  At the end of the week, I’ll go to Sheffield, England and on the weekend, fly home from Manchester.

An artificial marker…

Today is my birthday, and here I sit on the cusp of my 69^th year trying to make sense of the privileged life I have lived. I did not pick my parents, the era into which I was born. I had no say as to the color of my skin, nor the country into which I emerged. There was no preplanning as to the capacity of a mind that to this day has remained curious about the things around me.

I had no say in the relatives going back as far as one might imagine that somehow avoided death from wars and famine and disease and murders and accidents and other fatal events, long enough to produce offspring that also happened to survive long enough for me to find myself breathing and exploring planet earth. Winning a lottery? There has never been one with such high odds for me, or anyone reading this. Yet, here we are alive; creatures of active and accumulated thought - ARE YOU KIDDING ME???

It is hard then to fully appreciate why others have found themselves arriving at a different place on earth…to a different circumstance…to poverty and fear, to oppression and complete loss of control of their lives.

How does this happen? It is, of course, a rhetorical question, one that resonates right up there with, what is the meaning of life? Why do some find themselves with access to so much, and others so little?

It’s about the thanks…

So, on this day, I feel a sense of awe and gratitude for the gift of life I have been given. I also wonder what obligation comes with this freedom…the freedom to think…to express…to listen…to disagree…to embrace…to love who I desire. Surely, in the balance of things, there must be justice.

One might think I feel guilty for the accident of my birth and circumstance. That would not be correct, but gratitude for the safety and freedom of my life cannot be entirely separated from the larger tapestry of the humanity of which I am a part.

Maybe this is the reason I find myself talking and listening to as many people as I possibly can. Maybe it is because, in spite of my inability to understand any of it, I still find a commonality of life and love, unrelated to circumstance. Maybe it's because I want to believe, and in fact do, that it is the touching of another soul that reassures me, not the circumstance. We are fellow travelers through the world together, and the artificiality of culture, gender, education, financial status, are but weak reflections of the human spirit that inhabits us all.

Yeah, it’s my 69^th birthday today, and what I know of a certainty, after all, these years, is that I know very little…of a certainty.

- ted

Zen of the unexpected...

If you do not expect the unexpected

you will find it, for it is not to be

reached by search or trial.”

- Heraclitus

“No, no, no, no!!” I shouted jumping…er, hopping…uh, moving as quickly as I could out of the shower!

Before this sounds like too much information, there is a context.

From here to there…

I was preparing for a three-week working trip to Europe. Getting ready to leave home for this length of time requires a little planning, in the “How much stuff do I need to take with me?…” department.

The destinations for this journey were, in this order: Prague, Czech Republic…Poznań, Poland…Aberdeen, Scotland…Aalborg, Denmark…Manchester, England and home.

I have one of those large synthetic plastic suitcases, which I have taken in the past for shorter trips. It’s on rollers, but when loaded, the thing can be more that fifty pounds, which is fine if there are no steps to climb. On this trip, there would be stairs, so the decision was made to take two smaller, more manageable bags.

Most European hotels I have stayed in have a zip line in the bathroom tub or shower. It is typically on the wall at the showerhead end. You pull it the length of the bathtub and connect to a little hook on the far end. These lines are ideal for hanging small hand laundry, thereby permitting reuse of ‘re-usable items.’ This meant taking fewer tee-shirts and underwear.

My electric razor carries a three-week charge, so there was no need to take its power cord.  Having recently been outfitted with hearing aids, I took extra batteries.

Once the personal items and clothes were packed, I reported to the CEO in our home, who ran through the ‘prefight checklist’ to ensure nothing was missed.  Satisfying the boss that all was in order, there was nothing left, but to tuck in for the night; get a good rest and head to the airport the next morning.

First stop Prague…

By the time I got to the hotel in Prague on Sunday, I had been up for 27 hours. It would be a three-day stay there, so it was not necessary put everything away in the drawers and closet. I unpacked my shaving kit, put out clothes for the next day and went for a walk.  Since it was mid-day when I arrived, staying up until my regular bedtime was necessary.

That evening I had dinner with friends and experienced the usual, ‘first night in a new time zone,’ fitful sleep. The next two nights were better, but I was hopeful that by the time I got to my next destination, I would have adjusted to the Eastern European ‘…Nine-time zone difference from home…' biorhythm change.

Wednesday morning it was off to the airport and flight to Poznań, Poland where I chaired and spoke at a spine conference, followed by two additional days of meetings. In the end, it would be six nights.  This meant I could completely unpack, do a little laundry (hanging things up on the bathtub line), AND because Poznań was in the same time zone as Prague, sleeping would be better.

Things began to go gently south…

Arriving at the hotel, I unpacked and put away the clothes for the upcoming days of work.  First on the agenda was to get cleaned up for an evening meeting.  When I opened the shaving kit and pulled out my razor, the battery was dead. Apparently, the suitcase had been packed so tightly, the power button got depressed…there was no charge left, and eighteen days left in the trip.

Additionally, I had put dirty clothes (i.e. tee shirts, underwear, and socks) in a plastic bag to keep them separate from the clean ones.  Filling the sink with warm water and some gentle soap product, I washed tee-shits and shorts, only to discover the shower had no zip line, requiring a different solution.

Undeterred, I took them into the shower, squatted in on the floor, rinsed and wrung them out. Now the task was to find where to hang them up…a small problem solved by taking the clothes hangers from the closet and hanging them all over the room.

Instructions for the hearing aids were to wear them as much as possible to get used to having them in my ears. After a couple of weeks, they were not the least bit noticeable.

After getting the now damp, but drying clothing hung, I pulled off my clothes and got into the shower forgetting to take the hearing aids off.  As soon as the water hit my head, I knew I was in trouble.

“No, no, no, no!!” I shouted jumping…er hopping…uh, moving as quickly as I could out of the shower!  I yelled so loud, I even startled myself.

I quickly took the hearing aids off, opened the battery compartment, and dumped the batteries out. Soaking wet, I wrapped the now empty hearing aids in a dry towel, and finished the shower, praying they had not been damaged.

After dressing, and with a little trepidation, I slipped new batteries in the hearing aids and put them on…I was delighted they still worked.

When I tucked into bed, I couldn't help but chuckle at the events of the day. Whilst you all get only small glimpses into the odd experiences that have graced my life, I live with me twenty-four/seven.

The truth is, I kinda like it...

- ted

Closets not just for brooms...

But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and

when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father

which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth

in secret shall reward thee openly.

Matthew 6:6 - Bible

I asked her whether we might step into the closet where it would be a little quieter. When we closed the door in the small, lighted space, it was almost silent.

I suppose asking a woman you have just met to slip into a confined space with you seems a little strange. In all fairness, she was the one who suggested it.

I was on my way to Poznań, Poland, by way of Prague in the Czech Republic. It was Saturday and the conference wasn’t until Wednesday. I still had some time to get ready. The meeting in Prague was Tuesday, so I would have Monday to practice.

Practice, that’s the key to this climbing into the closet business.

A little background...

Over the years, I have had the opportunity to speak at a number of conferences around the world…something for which I am very grateful. These meetings have given me time and space to meet wonderful people and see some exotic places.

Once in a while I chair a conference, and when that happens in a foreign country, I try to say a few words in the native language out of respect for the invitation and chance to participate.

A few months ago, I wrote a very short greeting in English and dropped a note to my friend Beata. She is a physical therapist here in the U.S., and originally from Poland.

When I asked whether she would help with my project she said, of course.  I took the liberty of sending her not only the brief English sentences, but a Google Translation into Polish. I am certain it made her chuckle. She sent a corrected copy in Ploska, and we set up a time to video conference, which I intended to record.

After a couple of scheduling misses, we connected and I got to see her smiling face and get the recording done. Running through it a couple of times, I put it aside intending to write the words phonetically, so when spoken, they might be somewhat recognizable to the attendees at the conference. It was left on my computer desktop.

Time to go…

Getting ready to travel is a multifactorial experience. I have done it so frequently over the years that I have the packing drill down. Depending on the time of the flight, it’s done the night before, or sometimes the morning of the departure.

Molly also has a drill. She has me run through a verbal checklist of what I have packed, and if there is more than one suitcase, where things are located. I am sure she does this because she loves me, but it is also a task that she knows, without question, will save her time and stress. The legion of things I have lost or misplaced or not taken, or left behind, boggles the mind. Once, when I had left my wallet at home, she got it to the commuter terminal so close to take off, one of the ground crew actually ran out and handed it to the pilot through the small plane’s cockpit window!

This time, I was done the night before. The flight departed Tucson at 5:40 am for Chicago, where I connected to points east. Everything for the conference was backed up twice on a thumb drive and larger portable drive, in addition to my laptop. Everything except the audio of the Polish for me to practice.

In the car...

“Shoot,” I said. The word Molly hates to hear on the way to the airport. “Man, I forgot my Polish translation. I didn’t file it in the Poland folder after Beata helped me with it.”

“Too late to go back now,” she replied, and she was right.

So, it was on the flight and off to Chicago. Halfway there, the thought stuck me out of the blue, Wait a minute! Chicago has the largest population of Polish people outside of the mother country! Surely someone at O'hare speaks the language.

The question then became, how to find one.

After landing, I walked up to an information desk and asked one of the women if she might know someone who spoke Polish, expecting a shrug and an ‘I don’t know.’

To my surprise and delight, she said, “Yes, Alex does.”

Alex was the mid-sixties woman talking to another traveler and sitting right beside her.

“Alex, this man needs you to help him with some Polish,” my gal said.

The next thing I knew, Alex was by my side and I was explaining my dilemma. It was noisy and I asked her if there might be a quieter place because I wanted to record her voice.

She pointed to a door behind the desk and off to the broom closet we went.

I opened my computer to the Polish text, pulled out my iPhone as we huddled together in the limited space, and asked her to please read it very slowly.  Alex nodded, I pushed the record button and before you knew it, it was done.

It took about an hour and a half to transcribe her words phonetically, and in spite of practicing a few times, I still don’t have it right.

Come Wednesday morning in Poznań, I expect the audience...a very sympathetic audience...to let discretion be the better part of valor when I express my Polish greeting. I suspect some will smile, shrug and whisper to one another: "Jest to myśl, że liczy" It's the thought that counts.

- ted

An unexpected touch of the heart…

Love all, trust few, do wrong to none”

Shakespeare: All’s Well That Ends Well

“That’s a big airplane out there. Do you think it will hold all of us?’

The two women were standing in front of me as I was boarding a flight from Tucson to San Diego.

It was the rhythm of the comment from one of the women that caught my attention. The question was flat, monotone and forceful. The sort of comment one might hear from an adult with downs syndrome.

“Can we get on the airplane now?” she asked. The other woman, apparently her sister gently said, “In a minute. After these other people in front of us get on.”

The question-asking woman turned around, gazing at the other passengers waiting to board and said, “There’s a lot of people here.”

As she turned in my direction and our eyes met…my heart was in my throat. In that moment, she was my sister Nancy.

We never saw it coming, my sister’s journey into darkness. She had always been the bright light. Smart, driven, thoughtful, she made her way in life with her intellect and capacity to interact with people that was amazing.

This woman was always upbeat and could find the sunshine in the cloudiest of life circumstance. Never a victim, never a finger pointer, when things and circumstances created obstacles for her, she simply did whatever it took to figure it out, always finding a way to move forward.

I come from a family of strong smart women, all of whom deeply influenced my early years. In fact, they have influenced all of my years to this very day, in that they are the ones to whom I am drawn. None more than Nancy Jeanne.

A couple of years before we lost her to the unrelenting gravity of Alzheimer’s, I brought her out to San Diego for a couple of weeks, thinking in my naiveté that the Southern California air and ambiance would be good for her.  In truth, it was something I thought would be good for me…it was neither.

She was still manageable in that day, but focally verbal, saying whatever came to her mind, in the flat monotone of the woman with her sister on that flight to San Diego. The family member, as I had done, quietly assured her sister things were normal and would be fine. Nancy, like the afflicted woman, was not sure…the verbal flow an expression of her anxiety.

I had come to understand that every day of my sister's pathway to early death, was the best day she would ever have, in the ever-descending spiral of this disease. So the time in San Diego was the best she had for the rest of her life.

As the two women walked down that gangway to the airplane, one gently guiding the other shuffling along, uncertain exactly what was going on, I found myself sitting in the theater of my mind replaying the life and times of the only person I ever knew from birth to death…the only person with whom I felt complete and free resonance…the only person I had loved so deeply for the little more than six decades of her life.

I took my seat, closed my eyes and watched the liquid chemistry videos that flashed through my mind. I whispered to her that I loved her still and looked forward to the ‘time’ when I would make my way down the gangway on my flight of no return, and once again feel her living essence…

- ted

Tempests, teapots and tickets...

“Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is

won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat.” 

- Ralph Ellison: Invisible Man

The whole thing began over six weeks ago. The ‘whole thing,’ meaning preparing for a short visit to Singapore.

This will be my sixth or seventh visit there over the past fifteen years or so, all of which have been great experiences. I had been asked to speak at a spine symposium, and as usual, it sounded so much more exciting when it was at a distance. It is not that I don't enjoy this sort of thing. In fact, I love it. It's just that I forget, as Molly reminds me, to look in the mirror and appreciate the guy staring back at me is not a spry sixty-year-old anymore…or less.

Getting to Singapore from Tucson requires more than one flight connection. For this trip, it will Los Angeles to Haneda (Tokyo), with the final leg to that Island city-state eighty-some miles north of the Equator.

As it turns out, my regular airline does not go all the way to Singapore and so part of the trip woule be on a different air carrier. In this case, it was a code-share with Japan Airlines (JAL).

Molly has gotten pretty good at airline reservations over the years, but when it is this kind of trip; I depend on my old travel agent Nancy. She has been getting me places for more than twenty-five years, and truth be told, I think of her as family. There is just something calming about this woman. When things seem too complicated, she just talks quietly to me with a consistently cheery voice.

This trip didn't seem to be much of a problem, except…except JAL would not give me a seat assignment until twenty-four hours before the flight.  I am one of those ‘trust but verify' kind of guys, so when Nancy told me this, I said okay. Nonetheless, when the date got closer, asked her whether she might check again, just to make sure. She did, and the answer was the same.

The JAL website confirmed that code-share flights with certain airlines prohibited seat assignments beyond twenty-four hours.

I have done a lot of calls, over the years, to Japan, India, New Zealand and Australia. It is just a matter of calculating the time zone difference to make them work. Familiarity, however, sometimes breeds contempt…or in this case complacent neglect. Only God and the Universe know why I imprinted a twenty-hour difference between Japan and Pacific Coast time – in fact, it's sixteen hours – but I did. That would be forgivable were it not that I had the days wrong as well.

I planned to make sure I called my airline at exactly twenty-four hours before the flight departed to ensure I did not find myself in the middle row with non-English speaking seat partners for the seven-hour leg from Haneda to Singapore.

I even called my airline help desk to confirm they would be there at four o’clock AM Sunday morning for me to get those seats. Planning – that’s the key. You know, “…measure twice and cut once…” and all that sort of thing.  The gal at the airline assured me there would be a representative available at the early hour. They would, she confirmed, call JAL and hand me off directly to them.

Alarm set, I tucked into bed early, to get as much of a goodnight's sleep as possible. Three-forty five I was up, making coffee and heading for the computer. At four straight up, I called my airline help desk, only to be told they never connected people with JAL, but she would be happy to give me their number...things were beginning to tilt.

After trying to sort out the auto-answering choices with JAL I finally got a representative who let me know, not only would they NOT give me a seat, but I would need to wait until I got to Haneda, where I could get my assignment just before boarding...

By this time Molly was up, and after having coffee and therefore wide-awake, she said,

"Hey Ted, two things: Japan is sixteen hours out from us, AND you called a day early! You will be in the air when it is time to try again. I’m happy to make the call for you. It might make a difference.”

The thing about Molly is that she can remind me just how out of sync I sometimes get and do it a way that seems like she is congratulating me for being so smart! The way she said it, allowed my ego to remain intact and land pretty softly.

All was not lost. Getting up early allowed me to quadruple check everything, to make sure nothing was missing, eat a hearty breakfast, say goodbye to the cats, do a little reading and watch the clock.

At eight-ten it was off to the airport, still preparing my mind for a shoehorned leg from Japan to Singapore. When I checked in, the gal at the counter verified my passport, asked whether I was checking luggage and printed my boarding passes. She handed me three.

There, long before the twenty-four starting line was a seat – 16A. "Sixteen A!" I exclaimed like a child receiving a surprise gift. It was a window on a two-seat side of the aircraft. Well, I thought, this is lots better than a middle seat!

"The JAL rep said I would have to wait until I got to Japan to get a seat,” I said to her. She gave me a knowing smile, wished me a safe trip and said, “I can help the next passenger here.” Summarily dismissed, I was happily on my way.

When I got to Los Angeles, I thought, Now that I have a seat, I wonder if I could change it to an aisle.

At one of the help desks, I asked the airline attendant what she thought. “Let me see,” She said. “I can give you an aisle on a three seat center section.” That would be lots better, even if my inside seatmate had to get up and out frequently. I wouldn’t mind.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “There’s an exit row seat open, but we can never get them. Let me try.”

An exit row, are you kidding me, I thought.

“Hey, you’re in luck,” she beamed. “Fifteen H is yours!”

I walked away from her desk a bit overwhelmed. It was one of those ‘…best laid plans of mice and men…’ situations.

The preplanning…the phone calls…the early hour wake-up…none of it, not one bit of it mattered in the end.

When Molly dropped me off at the airport, I had rationalized by remembering all the great seats I have gotten over the years and resigned myself to one cramped, seven-hour leg into Singapore…you know, in a strange way, balancing the universe.

In the end, I was delightfully surprised. It is not that eighteen hours in the air is the most pleasant way to spend one's time. 

On the other hand, as I readied to hop that second leg from Los Angeles to Tokyo, I was a happy camper.

- ted

Appreciation and love...

“If we were completely unalike, we would be unable

to communicate. If we were completely alike,

we would have nothing to say.”

Jonathan Sacks: Not in God’s Name

I think we are aging gracefully, the five of us.

Molly is the youngest and appears to be the most resilient – quick of mind, spry of spirit, fan of sport, consistent of exercise, and keeper of the house. Yep, she is the most resilient of the live-in crew. Not much happens in the household over which Molly's influence does not take sway.

I would be next on the scale of ages. A mere eight years older, I like to think a sense of wisdom comes to the table with my presence…that is what I tell myself. On the other hand, everyone that lives here knows when the curtain is drawn back; the Wizard is not quite as richly wise as he might like to appear. That, of course, is the price one pays for being under the microscope twenty-four/seven.

Then there are the girls...that would be the cats. There was a time when we, that would be Molly and me, exceeded their ages. After all, when they arrived in our home, they fit in the palms of our hands. Time and gravity, however, in addition to the speed of inter-species biologic aging, have caused them to pass us by, right under our noses.

I have written about these characters occasionally, but as their lives accelerate and time on planet decreases, it seems a few more words…recorded thoughts…might be appropriate. If for no other reason than to read and remember when they have slipped through our fingers and disappeared from our home and lives.

It is a paradox how, as the privilege of a life lived drifts away with ever increasing speed, recognition and affection gather a different kind of momentum…richness of appreciation…depth of love. It seems odd that at the crescendo of the relationship, the heart empties and they are gone.

Hold your horses…they have NOT exited stage left yet!

The girls...

Hannah would be youngest of the girls – still older than Molly and me. She is the most independent – also the biggest by far. Her historically dumpy frame belies an agility that defies description. When she was young, she would leap to a narrow horizontal railing at the top of the stairs with the deftness of an Olympic balance beam champion. Even in these geriatric years, she is the most nimble of the bunch, and the healthiest.

Sarah is in middle…few weeks older than Hannah. While all the girls get along with each other and enjoy our company, Sarah is Molly's cat – period. It really doesn't matter what is going on in the day. If one wants to find Sarah, it is simply a matter of locating Molly. I am tolerated, maybe even mildly appreciated, particularly if I have feeding responsibilities, but there is no doubt where her loyalties lie. She is also the most fragile. A type one diabetic, with irritable bowel syndrome, she requires insulin and anti-inflammatory medication daily.

Finally, there is Leah – my girl and the eldest.

I have written about her the most; I suppose because she owns a larger piece of my heart. She doesn't follow me around like Sarah does Molly, but she comes to me frequently in the day. It is almost as if she is saying, "I just wanted to make sure you were not getting into any trouble."

If I'm writing, she will gently paw my leg requesting a spot by my keyboard. She has as spontaneously fused lower back due to arthritis, keeping her from just jumping from the floor, as had been her custom. If sitting on the couch, she will sit and stare at me until I pick her up. It would be hard to say there is urgency in her frequent appearances, but rather an increased awareness of how much we love each other, and a realization of the increasing velocity with which life is accelerating.

Our home...

So here we sit, our little nuclear family, in a home filled with love and appreciation…all of us, for each of us.

It seems that in spite of so many differences, so many inter-species obstacles, we have found ways to communicate. I suppose it is simply a matter of keeping at it. You know, continuing to take the next step when there is one to be taken.

They say when folk spend decades together; they begin to take on characteristics of one other. I can’t say that’s true for us, but I can say we have found an increasingly meaningful understanding and rhythm that suits us well indeed. These felines are NOT passive passengers in our home, but active participants in the dynamics of our lives.

Molly and I try not to think about life without these little creatures who have brought, and bring, us so much joy. Yet, there are moments of reflection when we appreciate, as it is for the two of us, we will not always be graced with their presence. We are mindful we have been gifted in ways hard to express. So, we work not to take these little ones for granted, nor their contributions.

Appreciation is the key here…appreciation and a heavy dose of love. 

Yes sir, when all is said and done, “I think we are aging gracefully, the five of us….”

- ted