It was a new day yesterday.

A picture of my wife, and me.

This is a celebratory post. Post #1101, and the crowd goes wild. It has been a long time.My first blog post was on 2/16/2012. If my math is correct, and it may not be, (but I can get away with a little numeric foolishness because my wife and sons are nowhere to be seen, no dramatic sighs, no looking to the heavens for strength, no disgusted corrections to a complex calculation, and let's face it, math is hard, math involving time is impossible, nothing makes sense, why divide things into 60 seconds, 60 minutes, 24 hours, 7 days, 12 months, I mean who thought up this system. My math is bad, but normally my reasoning is close to average, and I can see how ridiculous this system is... Sorry about that.

Anyway, I think I started this blog over 5 years ago, give or take, and I have published 1100 posts, with 100 drafts left unpublished. Which makes for a lot of words, a lot of words, in all fairness, though most of them have been used multiple times. If there were a way to publish this as one long document it would be fun to see how many times I have repeated words. Universe has been dozens, I know.

Sometimes I want to go back and read some of the early stuff, a time capsule of sorts, maybe I will. Mostly it is like a fire and forget missile. One and done, I might be too humiliated, and never write again. I might be too impressed, and never write again, or I might think, man this needs a little work, and never write anything new again. Someday I will.

Today, though, we are celebrating. "What a long, strange trip it's been." Over the years this blog has changed me. The act of writing has become a method of self discovery. One particularly disturbing discovery is how much I care.

You don't really understand suffering and pain until you look at it, until it looks back at you. Broken bones, stitches, are faded photographs, in the album of life, even the scars are nothing more than good stories. But, the suffering you see, the kind that sears into your soul, the kind you look at to write about, that hurts. It is the last stage of growth, though, and the empathy it provides is priceless.

The bad news for all of you, out there in the Life Explained is I have started to look at myself as a writer, blogging as writing. I have even started a Contently page. So I will be blogging for thousands of more posts. Until you are sick of it.

I would like to thank Street Speech, whose editor was the first to call me a writer, and the wonderful people at The Wild Word who made me believe it. And all of the other people who posted my stuff, and you, my blogging friends, who made me feel welcome. We are in this together, all the way to the end. In the words of Alex Harvey, "I only wish that I could see yesterday, the same way that I can see tomorrow." I don't know what that means but it is so cool.

Another Graduation Another Difficult Day to Understand

Yesterday our youngest son graduated from high school. He has become a fine, strapping young man. I was not sure how to feel about this minute in time, it was one step in a journey. he still has a long way to go,  though, he has come so far. As is so often the case when confronted by feelings of emotional ambiguity I ignored them and concentrated on the mundane.

It was a very long ceremony, there were around 300 students in the class. It takes a long time to hand out that many diplomas. Plus the speeches, and the songs, and the pledge of allegiance, the tribute to the armed services and first responders all add minutes.

Then they start handing out the diplomas. At this school the student can pick any teacher they like to hand them their diploma. And it goes alphabetically, by teacher and then by student. So, you spend time listening to names. When Smith is presenting a diploma to Wasserman you are in the home stretch.

Until then you spend a lot of time watching the people, and noticing things. Like the way people ignore the ceremony, and the things they do to distract themselves. Like this guy, who was playing a video game. He did so well, apparently, that he posted the score to his Facebook wall. Speaking as a spectator it was very exciting to be part of such a record breaking moment.

There was the guy who got there early and and saved a block of seats (a practice that is not allowed, but the ban is never enforced) and guarded them with a patriarchal zeal. Unfortunately his wayward family was mostly absent. He was so distraught he walked out of the arena while the school principle was trying to give the closing remarks.







It was a day of celebration, some celebrated with a vigor that was almost deafening, some more demur. I was among the latter, but my son has moved on to a new chapter in his life and we are very proud of him. It is a new chapter in our life, too, and we are unsure what to do next. Last night we had dinner at a restaurant by ourselves. It was nice, if a little odd, those are the things that carry people through life. Pride and sorrow, joy, and misgiving, hope and fear, and somehow we manage to balance the turmoil and strife with happiness and promise. As the song said, "every silver lining has a touch of gray."

Friday, Explained

Today is Friday, a day many feel embodies the noble spirit of mankind.  A day many feel the paragon of the virtues of humanity.  A day many feel shows the ultimate evolution of the race.  Lofty ideals no doubt, but Life Explained needs proof.  Sending the finest vocational anthropologists available into a medium sized company, in a moderately sized city, in a region often used to test market food and drink products before national release seemed like a good way to test "The Theory of the Friday Pinnacle."

Walking carefully down the drab, brown halls of the work place, our steps almost silent on the low pile, tan carpet, (a color whose only purpose is to hide stains and wear, tragically, this is accomplished by making the whole thing look worn and dirty) Monday morning at 10:47.  A tomb like silence was broken only by muffled curses, and soft weeping.  People dashed into offices, meeting rooms, bathrooms, closets, slamming the doors, diving under desks, just to avoid conversation.   Eye contact was avoided, not only with the scientists but with the other members of the office tribe.

Fear, and trepidation were palpable.  Obviously, this was a society in decline, once proud, and profitable, you could tell by the smart phones, and tablets abandoned in terror, as individual tribe members would smash through a glass wall, dive under a wood grain conference table, and cower in abject fear.  Suffering visibly, the scene was almost over powering.  Work was not getting done at all, ringing phones went unanswered as these poor souls, squatted, half hidden behind the wax plants scattered conveniently around the building.  All of the windows were covered, blinds, or curtains closed tightly against the antiseptic sunshine and warmth.  It was a tragic scene.

Tuesday, bought the glimmer of a smile, the spark of acceptance, with the braver members of the tribe actually peaking out from the bathroom stalls.  Rushing up to touch the researchers, and running, quickly away, a sound, perhaps a guttural giggling, could be heard as they rushed away.   Work was, for the most part, ignored, as boundaries were tested, and tribe members were striving for dominance.  Mostly using games of skill, involving expense reports, or purchase orders, wadded into tight, almost symmetrical balls, heaved at distant waste baskets.  Winners took the chairs with the nicest casters, wheeling themselves down the hall, just out of reach of the research team's scientific equipment.

Wednesday, the change was significant.  With the indigenous people gathering, in small groups of trusted friends at the coffee maker, microwave, or refrigerator.  Darting eyes were proof that the tragedy of Monday's alarm clock was not forgotten.  Work was largely left for later, the new found freedom was intoxicating.   Monday is still remembered, but the nature of the ecosystem has changed.  Boisterous, if embarrassed  laughter rings down the halls, echoing down hallways, and off cubicle walls.

By Friday things start looking like a tailgate party.  Tribe members were actually lighting fires under the feeder tray of the fax machine to grill brats and burgers.  There seemed to be an unwritten rule about the cooking of fish, and whispered tales of the terrible death, and dismemberment of a poor fool who had tried to blacken tuna steaks.  Of course, no work was done, and the celebrants were dancing a tribal dance down the central hallway.  A line of happy, joyful people, ignoring phone calls, and emails, intent on making the most of the moment, and plans for the coming weekend.  Electricity filled the air, the tyranny of week days were almost at an end, and the tribe was "bustin' a move."

It was a sight to be remembered, smiling, laughing people, in a long line weaving in time through the building, in one door, out the next, texting, emailing plans, "meet me at Phil's House o' Burgers for a beer," without losing their place in line.  Distant drums pounding time, a hypnotic beat driving a mesmerizing scene.

And, we have the weekend, two days of liberation,  But, following that, Monday.  But, Friday is coming, hold on to that thought.

Independence,and Living in the Promised Land.

Tomorrow is the 4th of July, the day we celebrate casting off the yoke of British tyranny.  Basically, we said, "Hey Britain, you can have your yoke of tyranny, because we are casting it off!"  Britain said "well, bloody hell, at least we still have India."   We were so delighted with our independence we fired up the barbecue grills, popped open some frosty beers and blew up some fireworks.

Of course, that was a long time ago, now we are good friends with Great Britain.  Such good friends, in fact,  we are even thinking about allowing the import of haggis, which is a sausage like casing filled with... well, you probably don't want to know what it is filled with, and after a few moments of research I know way more than I ever wanted to know about haggis.  Anyway, if we are considering allowing the UK to sell us that you know we have a very good relationship.  There is still plenty to celebrate, though.

Freedom begs for feasting, beer, and fireworks, and we are free.  No longer do we answer to a distant government with little regard for our well being, completely indifferent to the struggles we face daily, focused only on their own continued control, wretched, foreign and hostile to the lives of the citizens of this great nation.  Ok, so maybe not that much has changed, we still seem to have very little real representation. But, at least we are being ignored by our own, and that is a start, or maybe the end, and the problems in the nations capitol seem to grow in a geometric progression.  Who are we to let that ruin our fun?

It is not just a celebration of freedom, it is the day we honor the birth of our nation.  And while there are many things we could and should improve, and things may be getting worse, by the minute, and often it seems like nobody is even paying attention, certainly nobody is in any hurry to reconcile the vast differences dividing so much of the population, as long as it is such an easily exploitable resource, that is no reason to mope.  Sure, things may look hopeless, in fact we may have moved past the point of no return, in so many ways, and everybody who could help is too busy scheming, plotting and planning for the next election cycle.  We still love a good party.

So, America, pop open a cold one, fire up the charcoal, and throw some burgers, hotdogs, steaks, and ribs on the grill, even though those items have reached a price that most of us can no longer afford.  For one day we can all be proud of our country.  It is so easy to forget our problems on the 4th of July.  After all, the houses of congress are not in session.
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