A secret place...

“Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees.

Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts…”

– John Muir: Naturalist.

KA-BOOM!!!

The explosion of light and sound was unexpectedly bright and loud. It was so close we could smell it. The signature odor result of the electrical charge separating two bonded oxygen molecules that quickly form a three-oxygen-molecule bond, emitting the pungent, chlorine-like smell of ozone. Yep, the lightening-strike was close enough to excite three of our five senses. In the spirit of full disclosure, it pretty much emptied our sinuses from the instant overflow of adrenalin. It was sudden and breathtaking!

It had been raining cats and dogs creating that wonderful sense of isolation and connectedness that happens when one experiences storms from a dry and protected space. For me, there is something primitive about being in the middle of a raging storm as a shielded observer. We had been chatting about how much we enjoyed this kind of weather when the lightning hit close by.

There was a millisecond pause where we froze like two deer in headlights as our protective instincts sent warning electrical impulses buzzing down our neuro pathways. This was quickly followed by him saying, “We had better unplug everything.” He immediately began crawling the floor by the edges of the walls pulling cords and shutting things down.

The ‘he’ is my friend Clayton. I was sharing a weekend at his hideaway in Pinetop, nestled at 7,200 feet in the White Mountains of Arizona. This is tall pine country on eastern edges of the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forrest, and just north of the Fort Apache Reservation, seventy-miles or so as the crow flies from the New Mexico border.

The two of us are in a writer’s co-op in Tucson that meets weekly to review each other’s manuscripts. For the past two summer’s he has invited me to leave the triple digit temperatures of the Sonoran Desert floor and take the three-and-a -half hour drive ‘to altitude.’ This past weekend it happened.

A context…

I was privileged to grow up spending summer holidays in the hardwood forests of Central Ontario. In addition to the oak and maple, there were white/silver birch and a variety of evergreens – pine and cedar. Those summer days were idyllic and almost fairy-tale like in their moments. Our cottage on the family property was tucked away on the northeastern shores of Lake Joseph in the Parry Sound/Muskoka regions of the province. Those annual visits were soul cleansing before I knew anything about the importance of disconnecting from the treadmill of life to recharge one’s internal engines.

Back to Pinetop…

When we arrived Friday afternoon, he announced, “Two rules while you are up here. The first is that if it’s solid, flush twice (for the sake of the septic tank), and the second is that you are here to vacation.”

“Sounds pretty fair to me,” I responded. In truth, the first instruction would be easier than the second…there had been a lot going on.

The first morning I was out for an early walking exploration of the wooded neighborhood. As I walked the ‘summer home’ lined streets, I was transported to the Canadian woods of my youth. Smell is a powerful evoker of memory. I can’t really describe how the tall pine-scented woods pulled me so powerfully back to those Muskoka days. Any number of people and experiences emerged as welcome guests from long neglected memory banks. Some were so real, I could feel their presence as though they were with me…Of course, they were as only I could have known them.

I would be remiss not to note these walks were not just amongst the pine and oak and birch and other living fauna. There were squirrels, humming birds, large blue jays, robins, and black birds that looked as if they had been on steroids. None of them seemed intimidated by me. If I passed by them in relatively close proximity, they simply ignored me and went about their business.

In the middle to late afternoon, it started to rain as a thunderstorm came our way. When rain is falling in the woods, it has a curious sound and unique smell. It is not the water hitting the street or the tops of buildings, but its pelting of the tree leaves and branches as gravity pulls it to earth. If there truly is holy water, it is the movement of cloud dispensing liquid falling through the trees to the forest floor. The smell is one of refreshing cleanliness. When closing my eyes and taking deep breaths, I was overtaken by a timelessness connecting me to the universe in ways unachievable by any method of prayer or meditation I have ever practiced.

As it turns out Clayton also loves thunderstorms. Once the electricity had been shut down, He said, “Let’s sit outside on the porch and watch this thing.” I grabbed a couple of chairs, and we settled in. As the rain encased our little-covered area, we were provided a cocoon of intimacy…a place of safety. We talked until dusk emerged. Clayton and I have enjoyed each other's company since we first met. He is one of the more unique people I have known. He has an ‘in the moment' personality with a serious dose of intellectual curiosity. The time we spend together is always thought-provoking. We are also both old enough to have tolerance for one another's idiosyncrasies – which each has in abundance.   

The rest of the weekend was spent watching a little football, a few episodes of Game of Thrones (I had not seen any of it) and writing. Clayton is an extraordinary cook, and so the food was spectacular.

Heading home…

When Monday rolled around, it was time to return to Oro Valley leaving Clayton and the woods behind. The early morning walks, the thunderstorms, the comradery of a man with whom I resonate made the weekend trip to the mountains cleansing and refreshing. I hit the road, energized and looking forward to the week ahead.

As it turns out, I was also successful at following both Clayton's instructions.

- ted

Farewell, old friend...

“Time passed with cats is never wasted.”

– Sigmund Freud

Sarah came into our lives, as happens so often, by chance. Sable, her predecessor, had been ill and in June of 2001, we said goodbye. Leah, was by then, not very old but had learned to live with the older cat.

At that time, we went straight to the animal shelter with the intent of getting one kitten as a companion for Leah. It is not necessary to explain how these little creatures so quickly capture your heart. We were trying to make a final decision between two little ‘six weeker's' that touched us. I am uncertain who said what, but when we left the shelter, two tiny females found their way into our home. Leah would just have to deal with it, and deal with it she did.

Over the last sixteen years, our little family settled into a comfortable and easy life style. The girls were tolerant of each other, and it wasn't long before they picked sides. Choosing sides is not the best descriptor. Leah gravitated toward me in a sort of, "Look…When I feel like affection or I am hungry, or I think you need to get up…I will pay  attention to you." One might say she became my cat when she felt like it. She felt like it a lot.

Hannah, the second of the kittens we brought home, grew to be the largest and the most independent. She was (is) big and does pretty much what she wants. Not given to a lot of affection, one might think her aloof. But when she needs some loving, Molly was (is) the go to person.

Then there is Sarah. If there ever were a definition of a single person cat, it would be her. Early in the game, she identified Molly as her personal human being, and for the sixteen years of her life, it never changed. They traveled together, snuggled together, slept together and when in the same building were never far apart. If Molly were working on her computer, Sarah was there, when Molly came home, Sarah was waiting…Always looking to see where her best friend was – If I may be so bold to know her thoughts.

She was funny about it too. If Molly moved to a different room, Sarah would take her time following. When she arrived she had the expression like, “Oh, Molly, what are you doing here? Well since we’re both here, let’s hang out.”

I was the quintessential interloper consistently taking Molly's attention away from her. When I would come home from work or a trip somewhere, I got the look like, "I'm sorry, do you still live here?" If she were lying on the bed – it's a big bed – and I slipped in for a nap, she would give me ‘the look' and hop to the floor. Leaving the room, her backward glance said, "Do you have any idea what a pain you are?" And so it was…

The impression should not be given that we disliked each other, but after a while one expects friendship to be a two-way street. In the later years, she grudgingly gave me attention from time to time. She only really attended to me on the odd occasion when Molly was away, and I was given charge of the food. Then she made it clear it was not for the sake of comradery but rather, necessity. She needed food to survive.

A few years ago, she developed Type 1 Diabetes and Irritable Bowel Syndrome. We began giving her insulin and steroid injections to manage the chronic illnesses. With drugs on board, she lived a pretty normal life. But time and gravity take their toll and in the give and take of the universe, what was so graciously given on that day in June of 2001, will today at 2:30 be taken from us.

Today, we will say goodbye to a steady, and for a cat, predictable friend whose life and health has run its course. I suppose were I to fully anthropomorphize her…attributing human thoughts to her…she might be surprised how much I loved her…how grateful for the love and affection she gave to Molly…how she brought balance to our home.

Were it that we could slow time to allow us more of her presence...alas we cannot. She was a snorer, a high-pitched sound I found irritating on nights when the nectar of the gods seemed to elude my grasp. There will be no other nights like this…

And so, we steel ourselves against the inevitable, resisting with all our might the approaching hour of her release. It will be her release, not ours. We will continue to mourn the loss and do the best to love our remaining two geriatric girls while we have them.

I am reminded of a line from physician-physicist Lanza Berman in his text Biocentrism:

"A cat, even when mortally ill, keeps those wide, calm eyes focused on the ever-changing kaleidoscope of the here-and-now.  There is no thought of death, and hence no fear of it." 

This morning, I stroked the soft fur of her back, searching for words from which I could find comfort. Through the softly falling tears, I could muster only, “Thank you for all that you have given.”

And so, this afternoon, we will take our sweet Sarah to her place of departure. She will look at us with those “…wide, calm eyes focused on the ever-changing Kaleidoscope of the here-and-now…” There will be “…no thought of death, and hence no fear of it.”

- ted

Small steps - steps nonetheless...

“Our duty is not to overcome inequity everywhere.

Our duty is to overcome inequity in ourselves…”

– Anonymous

Dateline: San Diego

Time: 07:30

Temperature: 71 degrees (21C) – Humidity 72%

It was a typical summer’s morning in this west coast city. Locals say, “It’s just another day in paradise.” Molly and I lived here for five years and it would be hard to disagree that this is one of the loveliest places on the planet to live. It’s said that only three percent of the Earth's land mass has San Diego’s year-round temperate coastal-climate.

The spine meeting was in a hotel on the shore of the harbor, just west of Charles Lindbergh International Airport – some sixty yards from the water’s edge.

I headed out for a morning run, according to the Lindstrøm method, a Scandinavian approach I learned from its originator. It is a combination walk-jogging that works well for my aging architecture – in particular, ankles, knees, and hips. Think of Goldilocks and three bears as an example, but rather than porridge, it is about exercise intensity. Too little and the rewards are limited. Too much, and there is a risk of injury. The Lindstrøm method is intended for the movement to be just right! The guy who invented it is much better at it than I, but I continue to work on my technique in hopes that one day I will reach the mental and physical state he displays with such ease.

Usually, in the mornings, there is a marine layer along the coast. It forms from the cooling effect of the ocean water on the warmer air mass. In its most benign form, visibility is not affected, but a grayish cloud cover overcasts the sky that makes newcomers think it’s going to rain. In its strongest form, it cloaks the coastal city streets and highways in thick fog restricting visibility. Either way, by ten in the morning, most of it has burned off, and sunlight makes its way to the ground, covering everything in sight.

Loping along the harbor pathway, it was hard not to appreciate the beauty of the many sailboats moored off shore contrasted with the calm water and gray sky. Soon the sun would appear and make the boats against the San Diego Skyline look like toys on a shimmering carpet of blue water and framed in an azure blue sky.

There was another sight that caught my attention as I moved along the water’s edge. On several benches, meant for folks to sit and meditate at their good fortune as they quietly absorbed the beauty of this magnificent harbor, were homeless people just sitting up on the bench where they had spent the night. My clothes and belongings were in a dresser drawer and on the bathroom sink, theirs in a re-appropriated shopping cart or in one or two large, well-worn backpacks. At the end of my ‘Lindstrøm exercise,’ I would shower, change clothes, and get ready for the rest of the day. They would do neither.

My first experience in seeing a homeless person was in an early morning run in New Orleans decades ago. As I jogged around the person lying right in the middle of the sidewalk I was surprised to see him there. Later that morning, I felt as though I had been one of those Pharisees who bypassed the man eventually taken care of by the Good Samaritan in the Bible story I had known from my youth. It was a lovely story told by my mother as she tucked me in at night. I slipped into a reverie, content in the knowledge that God was good and all things eventually would work out. In New Orleans, the seeds were planted that everything would not work out in the end. It was a visceral reality that haunted my sleep for weeks.

Over the years, I have encountered hundreds of the homeless in situations just like this. There have been times when I provided a meal or a little cash, but in doing so, realized my impotence to make any kind of impact. I have come to understand there are many reasons people find themselves in a’ roofless’ life circumstance, many of which the result of poor mental health.

Whatever the reason for this outlier life journey, I have never come to grips with the real-life ‘Beauty and the Beast’ world in which we live. My upbringing in a modest minister’s family was on the ‘Beauty’ side of things. As challenging as circumstances might have been, I have never known the reality of the ‘Beast….’

As I headed back to the hotel, I was reminded of the story regarding the young boy and the thousands of sand-dollars on the beach. As he tossed them back into the ocean one by one, a man said to him, “Son, you will never be able to save these Sand-Dollars, there are simply too many.” The boy picked another one up and threw it into the water and said, “I saved that one!”

I thought to myself, I couldn't even save one...

- ted

Collecting soft voices...

“Unfaithfulness in public stations is deeply criminal.

But there is not encouragement to be faithful.

Neither profit, nor honor, nor applause is

acquired by faithfulness…virtue is not

in fashion. Vice is not infamous…’

– John Adams, 2^nd President of the

United States: Letter to wife Abigail.

How many times has someone given you assurances they would do something and did not follow through? How often has someone tried to sell, or succeeded in selling you something that did not meet expectations? How many times have you been betrayed in your life?

How good did it feel?

A small example…

Some years ago we purchased a new car. After a fair amount of dealership visiting, question asking and test driving, we settled on a particular make and model. It also indicated good gas mileage. We bought it because it was a good fit. The promise of thirty-two miles per gallon was not the deciding factor, but in addition to liking the vehicle, it made us feel we were a little more environmentally responsible.

From the beginning, that car never got thirty-two miles per gallon (mpg). Even on long highway stretches using economy settings and riding gently downward sloping roads, we never got that kind of efficiency.

Because the expectation was set, and for a while, each time the tank was filled and the car got twenty-eight mpg, I was irritated for having been misled.

It’s not the mpg's…

It may only have been a car company/salesman adjusting mileage predictions to sweeten a sale….so what's the big deal?

Were it only companies selling cars.

When these things happen, they erode confidence in information sources. Not only for gas mileage, as in this circumstance, but a broader, subtle distrust of information we hear from many sources about many things. As more of these kinds of experiences happen, they shave millimeters of hope and faith from the edges of our minds. If they happen enough, they wear away the fabric of social trust. Like the frog placed in slowly heating water, changes happen so insidiously that we don’t notice our shifting perceptions and beliefs. As with the frog who does not recognize he is being cooked, slowly emerging realities have potentially dangerous implications.

Dean Acheson, an American Statesman who provided counsel to several American Presidents, said:

“For a long time we have gone along with some well-tested principles of conduct: that it was better to tell the truth than falsehoods; that a half-truth was no truth at all; that duties were older than and as fundamental as rights; that, as Justice Holmes put it, the mode by which the inevitable came to pass was effort; that to perpetuate a harm was always wrong, no matter how many joined in it, but to perpetuate it on a weaker person was particularly detestable ... Our institutions are founded on the assumption that most people will follow these principles most of the time because they want to, and the institutions work pretty well when this assumption is true…” (From speech at the Associated Harvard Clubs of Boston – 1946)

These are time tested words because they are resonant truths. Our American way of life is messy, but in its messiness, has provided a compelling ‘light on the hill’ that has drawn the hopeful to its shores for more than 200 years. It has been an awkward experiment, but one that has worked better – and on a scale – than any other system the world has known.

Clarion? Call?…

Each of us has a very small circle of influence in our lives. The most fundamental of which is the potential for self-control. It is here where faith, curiosity, and hope exists, driving us forward. After that is influence with our family, then friends. As the concentric circles expand, our impact diminishes dramatically – neighborhood, community, state, nation, and the world. With each outward step, the ‘sound of our voice’ becomes softer and more distant.

On the other hand, as Pope Francis said in a 2017 TED talk, when distant individual voices unite with other voices of hope, they provide the basis for a revolution of light that has always been the basis of communal (community) and societal resilience. 

Do unto others – you know…

It is easier to consider ‘returning in kind’  things that have been done to us (e.g. let down, misled, or betrayed). The problem is that one can never pay back the hurt and even the score. Pay back only doubles the hurt – to the aphorism "When you remain angry with the thief, he has stolen from you twice."

It is also easy to fall into the mindset that since everyone does it, it's okay to adjust the truth a little here and a little there for personal gain. No doubt all of us do this from time to time, for any number of reasons. But repeated unfettered selfishness is a cancer that destroys our character and on a larger scale is a very real threat to our way of life.

Why not simply withdraw, step away and let the societal waters slowly heat. After all, it is them…those people…the others…who initiate these problems – not us. The thing is there is no them and us. There is only us. When ‘they’ do hurtful things, we are in the same heating water. It is the collective of the faint voices of the common good that cool the temperatures and still the waters.

As Dean Acheson and Pope Francis alluded to, stability in our own and societal lives can only come when we come together in the common cause of truth, hope, faith, and love. These are the glue that holds our personal and collective lives together making us stronger.

Maybe “…everyone else is doing it, why not me?” is an easier path in the short run, but over time, consistency, honesty, and character will come to a grinding halt. 

Listen for the voices, keep the faith...

- ted