Light comes in layers. Bright, revealing, glare that cast shadows. Shadows that seem even darker because of the light. Shadows that hide everything we ever imagined, or were afraid to imagine.
Loud, yellow, light, the kind that reveals flaws. The kind of light that makes you think about your choices. It magnifies defects, it shines on the imperfections, making small imperfections seem enormous. Light can show us things we don’t want to see, and we never want to share.
There is the smaller, distant light that hints at a direction. It offers a thin ray of hope when times are tough. Light at the end of the tunnel kind of light. It comes from the manufactured hope of a lost generation. It could have been any generation. They’ve all been left at the alter in one way or another. “Surely,” they can all say to themselves, “things haven’t always been this bad.” And they are right, and they are wrong. Things have always been this bad, and things have always been better.
The old adage, “don’t go toward the light,” rips at our most ancient shame, fear of the darkness. We’re afraid of the dark because there are too many questions, maybe even worse, too many answers. Questions may haunt you but, it’s the answers that terrify you.
It’s never a clear line between dark and light, lines of gray, murky, indistinct pockets of dread. There is an old belief that fear has an odor, pungent and raw.
Once, when I was young, for a reason I can’t remember, I walked across an old cemetery at night. It was one of those you see on the side of county roads. Surrounded by a barbed wire fence, cornfields on three sides, with a swinging aluminum gate. I was driving, just trying to remember what life was really about. I was stoned. I decided to walk through. I hadn’t seen a car for hours.
It was almost quiet, even the bugs paid their respects. I remember thinking it was easy, no problem. I walked from the gate, around the left side to the back, and when I reached the back fence, directly across from the gate I turned to look out at the corn. It was right next to the fence. It rustled softly, quiet murmurs, centuries of regret, whispering, I stood there listening, trying to pick out voices, words, until I thought I heard my name, I decided to leave. I walked, with more purpose than I want to admit, across the short breadth of the graveyard. More than I remember anything, I remember the shadows, they moved, and grew, and were black, they were more than black, they emanated blackness, they swallowed the light. And I remember the smell, fear, and dread, mixed with decay and death. Sometimes, on bad nights, when sleep won’t come, I can still smell it.
I never know which is worse, light or dark. They both have shadows. They both reveal things we might not want to see. Worse than that, though, they both make us look at ourselves in a way we aren’t always comfortable with. Either way we have to keep going, from light to dark and back again, and we call it life.
Last week my wife made me go to the doctor. My knee hurt, a lot, and she said I had to go. She was right, the pain was keeping me awake, and walking is difficult. But, going to the doctor makes my skin crawl, the place is filled with sick people, and doctors. Groups that should be avoided.
So, I called. And the woman who answered the phone said the doctor didn't have any appointments until late November, but I could see a Nurse Practitioner if I wanted. I didn't know what to do, so I panicked, and told her I would call back the next day.
In those cases, the times I don't know what to do, too many options, all of them bad, I call my wife and ask her.
"Call back and make an appointment with the Nurse Practitioner." She said, she was certain that was the right thing. And when she is that confident, even if she is wrong, there is no reasoning with her.
"I told them I would call back tomorrow. Maybe I should wait." A man of my word.
"They don't care, Tim. Just call." She was losing her ability to see reason.
So, I called back and tried to disguise my voice. However, my birthday and name proved too much to overcome.
"Oh, hi, Tim, I was helping you earlier. Help me out, which knee is it again?" She sounded happy, but there might have been an ember of anger and resentment somewhere in there.
"It was my right knee. I know I told you I would call tomorrow, and I'm sorry, but my wife made me call back today. I can call tomorrow if that's better." This might work, if I play my cards right.
"No, that's fine. We can schedule you right now." And, she did.
When I went to my appointment I checked in at the desk, everything was going as well as could be expected. Hardly any sick people and not a doctor in sight. I could start breathing again.
The woman at the desk looked at my name.
"Oh, hi Tim. How are you?" She smiled kindly, her voice was warm and friendly, she seemed sincere. And I panicked.
"I"m OK. How are you?" I said, looking behind me, finding the nearest exit sign, in case things went bad.
"How's your knee?"
"It's sore." Damn, things were taking a turn for the worse.
"I helped you schedule your appointment." She was smiling, cheerful. But, there might have been some latent hostility, I couldn't be sure.
"I'm so sorry! I know I told you I would call back the next day, but my wife made me call back the same day. I normally don't go back on my word so quickly..." five minutes of really going in for myself, laying it out there, I covered everything from my disappointing performance in the third grade Christmas Program, I was Shepherd #5, and stage fright made me nauseous, until I thought I was going to pass out, to my difficulty staying in one job when I was older because of my resentment of authority. There was no way I could possibly be held responsible for this minor oversight.
Finally, she said. "It's ok. We don't mind." But, she seemed a little angry.
Then, I went back and had my appointment.
"It's arthritis. Osteoarthritis." She said, and I guess Osteo means aged. And she said the "x-ray shows some detritus in the joint that might need to be cleaned out."
In that moment I saw it all. The beginning of the end. I felt the icy fingers of the dark hand closing
around me. I almost cried. This was the first thing I have ever had that there was no coming back from. It wasn't going to get better, only worse.
I've done a lot of stupid things in my life. Stitches, sprains, breaks, times when I should have learned and didn't. But, they always got better. Not this time. Slowly, inexorably my body is going to start to fail. One joint, one organ, one twinge at a time, until someday it just gives up, surrenders to a light so much brighter than its own.
Then I thought, I'm not done yet. I will "not go gentle into that good night." So, I will limp if I have to, I will crawl if I need to, but I'm going to be around. It is going to get better, and better, even if it slows down a little. Hang on, it is about to get interesting.
It has been a little over a week since I started my search for happiness. I have made some progress, and ran into some obstacles, but things seem to be improving, I think. One thing is certain. It is possible to be happier just by trying to be happy. A rule that seems so ridiculously easy it can’t be true. But, I think it is.
Conversely, it seems if you think things are going to go poorly they probably will. Which spells trouble for me, I’ve always assumed things were going to fall completely to pieces, “Every new message brings an evil report of armies on the march and time running short,”1 which always provided a certain amount of relief when things only went poorly, and if things went well it was almost ecstasy. So, I still wrestle with the inevitability of assuming a day, say Monday for example, is going to be a good day, and then having it blow up in my face. What are the odds of that, though?
My life is routine, my job is uneventful, most days my job wouldn’t even notice if I weren’t there, I have trained my job to do itself, I am in fairly good health, there is not much that can go wrong. My life isn’t foolproof, but it is almost on autopilot. My wife takes care of all the finances and most of the decision making. When things go wrong she fixes them, I am just along for the ride. I am the boy in the bubble, or the old man in the full life body cast, you choose.
So, happiness should easy for me. And really it is. I am pretty happy, I am just happy in my own way. There is no need to make a big, flashy display of happiness, flaunting it in the face of all the miserable people who haven’t figured out how to escape without leaving. Poor souls stuck in the present, mired in the day to day struggles of making ends meet, lost in the salt mines of living day to day. People whose lives are bogged down in balancing check books, planning meals, making payments, all the detritus of living in the 21st century.
Maybe I should start giving lessons.
Welcome to the New Life Explained School of Happiness. Tuition is voluntary. We have a lot to cover, so hold on tight. First I am going to get some coffee.
Today’s song of happiness is from an unusual source, Dr. John. Don’t forget to vote in the upcoming poll on Life Explained, the Facebook Page.
Occasionally I like to watch the IBM Watson commercial with Bob Dylan.It is easy to find on YouTube.
It reminds me of the power of language. Dylan is a master with words. His lyrics are so profound, have meant so much to so many. But, when it comes down to it, time passes and love fades. What else is there?
No matter what you write those themes are probably in there somewhere. And really, those are all you need if you consider how much your life has changed since you first started paying attention, everything noteworthy can be summed up in those simple statements.
Time passes, and it goes fast, or it goes slow, sometimes it goes so slowly it doesn't seem to be passing at all. But, it does, and those times are a story all their own. Those times are often the best stories, the stories I look for.
"Some of these memories you can learn to live with and some of them you can't"
And, love fades. There is nothing that burns so bright, so hot, as love. It has to fade or it would
consume you. Passion is replaced by fondness. Lusty, untrammeled obsession gives way to a comfortable need, that owes more to gentle caresses than anything carnal. And those are the stories I look for. The time tested attraction of people growing old together.
I look for hope and life, love and meaning in everything. Dylan taught me to do that. So, if you have a story tell it, and I will add it here. I think it will help people who need to know things change, but that is ok.
Dylan is a genius. His words have given hope, inspiration, pain to generations. I'm not sure he understands his importance in the world. And his overwhelming message, to me anyway is "the only thing I knew how to do was to keep on keeping on."
In
keeping with the politically free theme, and our #MakeAmericaDeadAgain movement
we have decided to study human needs, mostly the need for power. The need for power beyond
And, if
you want to talk about power a great place to start is the ancient Assyrians.
They had some power, and were uninhibited as all hell about its use and
potential.
According to historian Will Durant;
"If
we should admit the imperial principle – that it is good, for the sake of
spreading law, security, commerce and peace, that many states should be
brought, by persuasion or force, under the authority of one government – then
we should have to concede to Assyria the distinction of having established in
western Asia a larger measure and area of order and prosperity than that region
of the earth had ever, to our knowledge, enjoyed before."
Of course, that kind of peace and security come with
a price. In the case of Babylon the cost was absolute destruction. According to Sennacherib, King of
Assyria 705 to 681 bce. Here is how security was achieved in Babylon;
“I
levelled the city and its houses from the foundations to the top, I destroyed
them, and I consumed them with fire. I tore down and removed the outer and
inner walls, the temples and ziggurats built of brick, and dumped the rubble in
the Arahtu canal. And after I destroyed Babylon, smashed its gods and massacred
its population, I tore up its soil and threw it into the Euphrates so that it
was carried by the river down to the sea.”
A Look At Today;
It isn’t much different than what is happening
in Syria today, I guess. It was much more difficult and required a lot more
labor, but the results are more or less the same. But, what happened to Babylon took place a
long time ago, and the crisis in Syria is so far away. And I was never very
good at history, or geography.
Looking at the world
today makes me wish I would have paid more attention to both, though. And it
certainly makes me wish world leaders would have learned a little more from the
past. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, right? Only
when they repeat it with today’s arms and abilities the whole world will end up
like Babylon, or Jerusalem, or Carthage.
Oddly enough, (or maybe not odd at all) they
always had a reason for every barbarous act of annihilation. Today, they are
just interesting bits of information on Google. Nobody ever thinks, "man we haven’t
changed," we still find a reason, and still pretend it makes sense.
#MakeAmericaDeadAgain
I think we will end
with some more Grateful Dead today;
“If
the game is lost then we're all the same No one left to place or take the blame We will leave this place an empty stone Or that shining ball of blue we can call our home”
Last night a mixed martial artist fought a boxer, in a boxing match. It was wildly anticipated, hyped beyond reason, advertised, talked about, waves of unrelenting publicity crashing across the nation, probably the world. According to reports it was a good fight. I didn't really pay much attention, before or after. It was an interesting mixture, though. Two angry, outsized personalities glaring for weeks. Face to face. Would it kill them to smile? Is that a sign of weakness?
Musicians are the same, if you look at publicity photos of bands they seem sullen, angry. "I hate being popular and getting my picture taken." Smile, people like your music enough to want to see your picture in an advertisement. Why is smiling so shameful?
When our children were younger we used to go to the local water park or the zoo. It always amazed how angry people looked storming toward their cars. Did they have such a terrible time? I was almost afraid to go in, what horror had visited these poor people? Why were they so mad, stomping across the miles of burning asphalt, dodging the cars driven by angry patrons who had left in the moments prior? My wife said they weren't mad. They were just tired. But, they looked mad. Not talking to each other, not even looking at each other, they could have been strangers, enemies.
I made my family smile as we walked away, sometimes promising the dinner of their choice for a happy demeanor. We were freaks, outcasts, it never caught on.
I do the same with my wife. We go kayaking and we joke and laugh as we tie the boats to the top of the car. I hold her hand to prove despite time preparing to go, the hours of paddling around together, the carrying of boats back to the car we still like each other. It hasn't caught on either. In the words of the Grateful Dead, "nothin' left to do but smile, smile, smile."
"You're not doing that right." Echoes across the parking lot, husband, wives, girl friends, boyfriends, it is like the call of angry, dissolutioned birds. "The strap goes through the slot and over the boat. Don't you ever pay attention?"
I ask my wife to check if I have the straps straight. "Do they look right?" It may never catch on, but our drive home is pleasant, our time together relaxing, our affection nurtured. And you know what, it makes me happy to make her happy.
Sometimes you just need to forget about life for awhile. Sometimes you just need an escape that is deep, and beautiful and carefree. Sometimes things just get so complicated you need to "bust a move on outta there."
I like to go to the gym. Lifting weights, cardio the mechanics of exertion, sweat, these are anesthesia to the soul. Plug in some music, and forget about your troubles 12 repetitions at a time. I use the strain to unwind, break free from my day, drift, no purpose, no promise, just me and the machine, or kettle ball, or free weights in harmony. Symbiosis as exercise. It is almost beautiful.
In the back, though, it is not peaceful. It is where the serious lifters practice their discipline. Big, strong young people, muscular, defined and dedicated, this is where they work out. It is filled with the sound of weighted plates clanging onto barbells. Crash, slam. Grunts echo from the area. Odd, aggressive encouragement sounds a cadence for the supreme effort.
"C'mon, once more!" Leaning right over the prone figure, flat on the bench, struggling mightily to lift that huge weight one last time. It always seems angry, and I half expect the motivation to be followed by a string of unprintable insults. "C'mon, once more, you #$%cki#g p2$$y." It hasn't yet. It is almost always followed by a loud explosion of sound as the barbell is dropped, and the lifter and hostile sounding cheerleader/weight lifting assistant celebrate the success. "Yeah!" Slaps on the back, high fives, and other congratulatory sounds.
They use the gym for gains, the thrill of growth, almost a conquering of yesterday's achievement. I envy their dedication, but I could never do that. They work hard. And long. And it shows. I am only their long enough to shake off the day.
I like to kayak. Paddling and floating, temporarily, away from the life's troubles. Perspective is different on the water. It is quiet on a kayak, the blades splashing gently, sometimes the paddle sits in your lap, and the boat cruises almost soundless.
There are parts of the world that can only be seen from the water. Last week we went to a new launch
site. Arriving early it was quiet and there were fewer people. Just south of the ramp (really just a sandy, gentle incline) was an island. Paddling around the farthest point we saw a dead tree standing slightly taller than the other trees. Sitting all over the top of the bleached white skeleton were probably thirty or forty birds, big birds, ospreys I think. It was a wonderful sight, but you would never see it from shore.
Kayaking is an odd pastime. I see people who look as though they have been kayaking forever in small, inexpensive looking boats. Paddling, turning, comfortable, they are experienced, natural. And I see people who look as if they have never launched with boats that easily cost $1400.00, and they look miserable on the water. Even with peddle drive and a rudder, they just look out of place. Ours were a couple of end of the season bargain cave beauties that float, steer and help us unwind. They maybe the last "yaks" we ever buy.
Life is nothing more than a series of choices. I try to choose to be happy whenever I can. That is the only advice I have. It seems silly, almost sixty years old and I still don't know anything.
Somehow, this song seems appropriate for this post.
Saturday we went to an auction. An older couple had moved into a retirement home and had to scale back on their possessions. One of my wife's coworkers, her friend at work, told her about it. Since we had never been to an auction we thought it sounded like fun. Everything is an adventure if you do it properly.
We got up early, not too early, not early at all, really. Stopped at Panera for a cheese pastry, for me, a pecan braid, for her, but she let me have part of it, she is pretty good to me, and a medium coffee, for me. And we were on the road, pastries and drinks in hand. In what has to be considered an auspicious start we didn't get lost. In fact, we only had to turn around twice, and only for a block both times.
It was a pleasant drive. Rain had turned everything a healthy, vibrant green. Corn stood tall, cows chased their calfs playfully across idealic pastures, playing in ways that I never imagined cows playing. Crops, barns, country churches, old graveyards filled with stories, stories lost forever.
Before we left rain barreled through, lightning, thunder, wind, wet, ominous, and loud, soaking everything. Then it was mostly done. The clouds hung around sprinkling and threatening, but behaving. There was enough early rain that almost everything was wet. Boxes of soggy books, albums, towels, linens, Christmas decorations, lined up from front to back. Two lines of failing cardboard waiting to be snapped up, loaded in cars or trucks. There were even a few people who towed flat cargo trailers. Serious about auctions.
We ran into my wife’s freind, and my wife’s friend’s wife, if you see what I mean. Wonderful people, kind, charming. People who make you feel welcome. In a way, even though I hardly know them, this is the first time I had met his wife, it seems as though they are my friends, too.
There is a magic in the sound of an auctioneers call. The cadence, the rhythm, the intonation, it is mesmerizing. When you mix it with a sense of humor it is a show worth seeing. This auctioneer was exceptional, and it was fun watching him, working the crowd, singing the numbers, bouncing the bids backs and forth, art, for arts sake, or for the sake of the sale. I bid on a few things just for the fun of being involved.
In the air a hint of celebration mixed with the thick humidity. Laughter and conversation competeing with low, distant rumbling thunder. People clustered in little clots, smiling, sharing a memory. A concession stand had been set up in the garage, and business was brisk. It had an amazing variety of food, none of it healthy, but all of it looked good. It seemed everywhere you looked people were finishing a sandwich, or piece of pie. It could have been a county fair on a reduced scale, county fair light.
Not all the conversations were pleasant, some were darker, rumors of anger, mistrust, potentially shady practices. Many of these people traveled the same auction circuit. They knew each other, and as is so often the case familiarity breeds contempt. Nothing can sour a relationship like a little healthy competition, and an auction is fast, furious competition. Serious business for many, perhaps stocking a thrift store, a casual sideline for some, stocking up on goods for a yard sale, a chance to make a little money for most. Not for me, though, I was only a tourist, a voyeur.
And, here is what I saw, years of hard work, a couple's life, at least a good portion of it, was laid out, on plastic tables, under tarps, exposed to a bizarre, violent mid summer thunder storm. Examined, picked over, rifled through, judged for resale value, and finally bid on. Some lucky enterprising soul would take home a box or two of carefully accumulated memories.
These two people had raised a family, lived a life, traveled, read, listened to music, sought spiritual fulfillment, and now their life was boxed up, or laid out on tables, marginally protected against the sudden, unforgiving rain. Tools, household goods, utensils, bedding accumulated over years gone in a day. Carried off, a modern day tempest scattering a life time to the far reaches of the county.
I didn't buy anything, nor did my wife. Well, I bought a coney dog, my wife bought a piece of apple crumb pie, and we split a bottle of water. Actually we split the pie, too. My wife is nice that way. We didn't stay for the whole thing, but we were there long enough to understand the finality of the occasion. Possessions sold, house sold, truck, off road vehicle, golf cart all sold, a life lived and the remnants off to start over with a different family.
Redistribution at the micro economic level. Who knows where the tools, trinkets, comforters, video tapes will end up. One box of memories could be split into a fifty pieces, sold to forty different people and end up in another state. Maybe traveling to another country. It is Newton's law of motion. And object at rest tends to stay at rest an object in motion ends up almost anywhere.
It was fun, and it was a little melancholy. And it offered some reassurance, things come and things go, life goes on. All sales are final, and there is no warranty, life comes as is, as do we.
Memorial Day, and I think of the people I lost. A parade of faces, memories, has it really been that many? You don’t really notice, it just kind of happens, but when you stop and think about it, really think about it there are too many. Each holds a special place, each carries their load of history, your history, my history. Too many faces, too many people. It is overwhelming. A lot of times the thing you remember the most is finding out, when someone told you they were gone. It was a punch, fast, unexpected, painful. It is a feeling that can last a lifetime.
In a lot of ways, though, the real sadness is when you think of the people who are still alive and you never see anymore. Times change, people change, places change, and people change places. But, deep inside there is always a part that remembers the people who are still alive and are long gone. They are the ghosts of modern society. And they haunt you too.
It is the ultimate revenge of mobility. We can move farther, faster and more efficiently but at what cost? Looking back, the friends who helped me through life are scattered around the country, and if I see their smiling mug on Facebook it always bring a pained smile. A smile because I see their face, the pain knowing I may never see them in person again. Some of these people were so close, so good to me they passed from friend to family. And some people are lost so completely I don’t even see them there.
But, it is a time of celebration. My parents are buried in a little cemetery close to where they grew up, so many years ago. It is a long way from where I live. My cousin and her husband make the rounds. Decorating graves all over, in small, almost hidden graveyards. It is a joyful practice, and they do it with love, and admiration, and respect for the people they knew and loved. It brings some peace knowing my parents are not being ignored. I can’t really explain why but it does. This year they even sent me a picture, and it brought a tear to my eye. I can never thank them enough.
One year we were fortunate enough to be there to help them go and gather the flowers and decorations, it may have been one of the most spiritual moments of my life. Watching them, driving from place to place, paying their respects, sharing their memories.
Memories are important, but don’t forget to remember the people who are in front of you, they are important, too.
Life is hard to understand, Occasionally something good will happen. Most times, though, random occurrences, minor, petty inconveniences barge in callously proving life is not your friend. Life belongs in a museum, behind glass, or a zoo locked in a cage. We need to control life a little better. Life walks around, taking, and stomping, and smashing, and just being a big bully in general.
We, here at Life Explained, have decided to take steps to rein in the abusive monster of reality. First we called a meeting, complete with catered breakfast, and coffee service.
It was fantastic, croissants, bagels, fresh pastries, all arrayed in artfully on long tables, covered with pristine white linens. Oh, and the coffee, was the coffee extraordinary. Dark, hot, freshly ground, steam rising as you poured it in your cup. It had to be the coffee of the gods.
A line started to form at the buffet table. Soon there was some jostling, it looked like the cheese danish were going to go before Geoff, the archivist was going to get one. He tried to muscle his way in front of Cathy, the secretary for transportation department, nasty words were exchanged. Glares, snarls and curses.
Not just swearing either. Turns out Cathy comes from a long line or gypsies. It was, in retrospect, obvious. Cathy was always wearing flowing, pleated, flowered skirts ending at her ankle. Her dusky complexion was complimented by eyes so dark and so glittering they appeared to be pupiless. When she walked, anywhere, people, in the back of their thoughts, almost imperceptibly, heard distant, primal music. A song that haunted them for minutes after she had past. Nobody said anything about the melody, why would they. And nobody made the connection, until yesterday.
Before Geoff could could get back to the end of the line all of his hair had fallen out. He had spent so much time perfecting his look, just the right amount of grey around the temples, the rest jet black, and combed precisely backward, almost aerodynamically. He spent a small fortune on hair products, to keep it in place and colored just perfectly. His clothing was chosen to compliment his hair.
When it fell out he dropped to the floor, sobbing, weeping, curled up in a ball, his face buried in his hands. His shining, bald head gleaming under the harsh lights of the flashing camera phones. It was heartbreaking, and all over Instagram.
We decided Life had won this round. Cathy got her own office, and a company car. Geoff apologized and got his hair back, in a gleaming shade of white/silver that would go with almost any suit. And we went back to work.
Don't worry, we haven't given up, we lost the battle, but the war continues. Maybe we will have pizza next time.
I decided to start exercising. Getting older, heavier, more liable to suffer the effects of health related illness, or injury made it seem a wise choice. The only choice. Aging is difficult, aches, pains, constant worry and concern. It is impossible to escape the gripping fear of doctors, tests, and the terrible results waiting after every blood draw, x-ray, or scan.
“My knee hurts. Has for weeks.” I will tell my wife.
“You should go see the doctor.” She will reply. No thanks, who needs that kind of pressure. Who knows what he will dig up, what he will find, if he goes looking deep enough. And he will dig, and probe, and ask until he backs me into a corner from which there is no escape, no hope of rescue. I will be forced to confess, rat myself out just to avoid any more accusations.
“I did it, Doc, I didn’t take my medicine, and I have been drinking soda pop, and eating potato chips. I’m guilty.” That’s when it gets bad.
So, it seemed much smarter to just get in shape, cut down on the doctor visits, and take better care of myself. So, I joined a gym. The YMCA. I know, it’s not a real gym, it’s not where real fitness guys go, it is workout lite. But, we got a discount, since my wife works at a school, and since I have never been to a gym before and had no real plan and assumed that my zeal for fitness would not last long, it made sense.
I am still going, every other day. And I love it.
At first it was very difficult, I didn’t know what to do, or how to do it. And I was sure it was only a matter of time until someone said “hey, you’re not a workout person, you don’t know how to use this stuff, beat it. Come back when you don’t look so ridiculous.”
It was more like guerilla exercise, sneak in, work out, run out the door, don’t make eye contact, try to blend in. Get in, get out. Too bad I couldn’t go in the middle of the night. “Who owns the night?” I do, kind of, if no one else is there.
After a couple of weeks I noticed that I didn’t have to rely on subterfuge, camouflage. Nobody cared I was there, nobody even noticed. Everybody was just exercising, and not paying attention to anybody else.
And you know what, there were all sorts of people. Young, firm, fit people. So athletic, doing exercises the seem impossible, lifting enormous weights, Atlas like weights, bouncing jumping, twisting, contorting in ways that make me hurt just watching. Old people who limped in, carried themselves all the way to the treadmill in the back. Hooking their cane on the rail, resolutely piling up the steps. You wonder why they put them so far from the entrance. And all the types in between my category, the type in-between. I realized this was the perfect gym for me.
There are groups, mostly older people, who come, hang out together, drink coffee, work out a little, and talk. They seem very close, a special bond of friendship. Forged in carrying Styrofoam cups, conversation, and occasional forays into the world of exercise.
There are groups of younger guys. Serious about lifting. Staying mostly at the free weights, encouraging each other, in manly, macho ways. “One more, One more, C’mon!” Their dedication shows, they are big, muscular, and lift insane barbells loaded with huge plates. They spend a lot of time adding and subtracting weights, preparing for the next assault. It almost seems a symbiotic relationship, lifter, and weights in harmony, forever.
Groups of women gathering at the door, chatting excitedly, waiting for the current class to end. They work in unison, to music, and at the direction of a leader with headset microphone. A leader who, from the safety of the open exercise room, can sound sound dictatorial, harsh, unforgiving. “Up, reach, higher, higher than that.” You almost expect the instructor to start swearing, Iron Mike Ditka teaching Jazzercise, “Move it, you worthless **#$%%++!”
I made my long suffering wife start going, so I would have a workout buddy. Poor girl, but she is starting to enjoy herself, or has accepted her responsibility anyway, and pretends. So, she goes. And since she is so charming, and outgoing a lot of people know her, and talk to her, which makes it look like I have a lot of friends. Nobody knows they are just waving and smiling at my wife. Man, do I look popular, as long as she is there.
My wife does not stay for the cardio portion of the work out. I don’t know why, and have never asked, not a good idea to mess with your workout “gang.” I plug in my headphones, select a machine and rock and roll my way to better health (sometimes I listen to audio books, thanks to the Columbus Metropolitan Library), and occasionally it will be a podcast, but mostly it is music. It is so easy to get lost in a song.
And here is another great thing about working out at the YMCA. I rock and roll. Tapping the handles in time to the music, I probably sing along. Jerry Garcia and me crooning;
“This heart of mine, could never see
What everybody knew but me
Just trusting you was my great sin
What can I do, you win again”
Man Hank Williams understood pain, torment, and the Grateful Dead could turn it into a long, sad, melodic anthem that will push you through the most painful “rolling hills” selection on the elliptical machine. And nobody cares that I am singing and tears are streaming down my face. Occasionally someone will come along and say, “don’t worry, everything will be ok.” Invariably, they will offer to buy me a beer.
It has been a while since I made a video of any kind. It is not for lack of desire, or a lack of apps, in fact there are a couple of new apps that have more potential than I deserve. But, you have to have a base, something to build on, it can be a series of pictures, or a video, but it isn’t like sitting down and hammering out a blog post where there are no real requirements, no need for a foundation. Just start typing and see where it goes.
I decided to take a walk through the park, take a few pictures, see a few things, get the blood flowing, and maybe come up with a few ideas. It was a lot colder than I thought. And I have developed a terrible, permanent cramp that runs from my hip to my toes on the left leg. Limping takes a lot longer. I couldn’t find my camera, so it seemed like an idea doomed from the start. But, stubbornly I went. I had my phone.
Nature is fantastic. I love nature. Obviously it is a lot easier to love when it has a paved path running through the middle, not as muddy, easier to navigate. I love to fish, but it is so much easier because I never catch anything. I have a kayak, but as far as I know it has never been in the water, maybe this year.
Still, nature is wonderful. Central Ohio has some spots that are amazing. Nestled in the midst of the ugliness of rapidly expanding humanity, houses, apartments, office buildings shooting up, chopping down forests, pulling up roots of trees hundreds of years old. Big, ugly tractors pushing piles of dirt, so big, bland buildings can take the place of the artwork Mother Nature has been creating for thousands of years. Progress marches on, over and through, I guess.
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Though, a greatly reduced, and controlled version of nature, I love walking through the park. I know for everything seen there are a dozen unseen. And that is fine. A lot of those are not things you really want to see while you are limping through a park in weather so cold hardly anybody else was brave enough to limp around the paved path.
Sometimes in the morning, driving to work on a road that runs beside the creek that bisects the park, and less than a hundred yards from the entry, coyotes sit, watching, waiting. Coyotes are not large, and rarely attack humans, from what little I understand. But, nobody wants to be that exception. There are skunks, raccoons, rats, turkeys, deer, all hidden away, lurking just below the tranquil surface. Hardly a murderers row of predators, but nothing to mess with, either.
In those lonelyy moments, though, it is enough to see nature in all its beauty. Death, birth, life all working together in one frame. A symbiotic relationship between decay, growth, rot and rejuvenation. This time of year, the stark, humbling nakedness of the trees, and the long views allowed paint a picture of a world at rest.
Peace, quiet, and solitude. Only the sound of the water tumbling over rocks. It is almost spiritual. The hand of God, displaying its power in a small park in the middle of Ohio.
In one place along the path is a monument. At the far end of a circular walkway is a granite slab in remembrance of a young lady, a little girl, really, who took her own life in the park. Oddly enough she went to elementary school with my youngest son. They had gone on to different high schools and were not close, but it still had an effect, a chilling, icy grip.Even in the cold, even while dragging my stiff, sore leg behind me, I have to stop and say a silent prayer. Anybody who can walk past that without feeling some pain is probably in too big of a hurry.
Walking past abandoned baseball diamonds, this is the serious pre season, and a silent, empty bog, it was impossible not to think about the noise of children who would soon be dressed in uniforms, occupying fields, chewing gum and chasing the most American of values, sports stardom. Chewing gum, sunflower seeds and serious coaches and parents making the area hum with tension. And a short hop away the bog would be alive with croaking frogs, hunting snakes, and the life of nature's season.
What does any of this have to do with making a video? Probably nothing, maybe a little. But, sometimes a moment of walk through a small park, all by yourself, and take the time to remember all of the things that are important. A video is still coming, it might be the trip to the store and library with my wife today. But, it is coming.
Our building is very old. It has a past that is not entirely wholesome. People speak in hushed tones about the days it was used as a speak easy. Tales, awful tales, circulate about the time it housed the overflow from the local jail. Mythical, monstrous stories, of terrible and awful occurrences. All dubious origin. Nobody thought they were true, but everybody believed them.
Initial construction was completed in the late 1800s. Three additions were cobbled on to the original over the next 37 years, leaving dark corners, small dank recesses, and oddly shaped rooms scattered in unexpected places. The whole building teeters on the line dividing reality and the other places. Places where the darkness is more than the absence of light. Places where the darkness lives. Places where the darkness is so absolute it cuts a clean line at the threshold, even sound won’t enter those places. Places where people go and never return. Sometimes the body, the vessel, comes back, but the person doesn’t. There are lines in our building nobody should cross.
This too, has been a place of darkness
In the basement is the darkest place of all. It is up a small flight of stairs, with a small rectangular landing. There is a heavy gauge chain link fence with a sturdy gate, held secure by an imposing lock, that separates the two places. In there, the darkness is darker. If a person were to watch long enough, and that person would be a fool, the darkness will start to boil, and roll. Twisting, dancing, living. Occasionally a toy will tumble down the steps, landing at the fool’s feet. If the fool had any brains at all he would not touch the little ball, or truck. No, the best course is to finish your task in the less dark part of the basement, and get out, as fast as possible.
During those early days the company had developed a very workable relationship with several manufacturers in developing countries. They produced the components for several machines that were moving beyond planning to procurement and production. Transformative machines with enormous potential. It would take some time to gather all the pieces, and assemble the parts into the whole. All of those parts needed to be stored somewhere. Once the rest of the building was full we were left with only the basement.
As the final crate was pulled from the elevator and the ordeal was almost over there was the slightest movement from the darkness. A darkness slightly darker than the impenetrable black. Stirring, shifting, fading, coming closer, moving away. It had a sound, breathless, gasping, terrifying. We stood, frozen in terror, knowing our lives were over. All of the sudden the great price on all the needed parts seemed a terrible deal, a balance sheet that was going to be zeroed out with our deaths.
As we stood, waiting for the end, a small cup tumbled down the stairs, it had a delicate ring as it fell from step to step. At the bottom it landed gently on its base. It was spotless, and shone as though it had just been polished. The voice grew louder, clearer, and it sounded as if someone were clearing their throat. “Tell John🍺 our cappuccino machine is broken, please.” It said.
“Right away.” we said, running up the stairs, faster than any man had ever run.
In the Fifties the United States government built a small facility on a remote mountain top in New Mexico. It is a desolate, isolated, rock covered elevation, removed from humanity by desert, distance and local tales of the ghosts of Spanish adventurers, Comanche Indians and gold prospectors.
On top of this lonely rock, in the middle of nowhere they constructed a small building approximately 100 feet long and 35 feet wide. The grey, unadorned walls almost blend in with the surroundings. As do the huge electrical conduits that appear almost magically out of the ground at the base and snake up the side following the path of least resistance. Clearly, whatever is housed in the small shed consumes a lot of power.
The few brave souls that have climbed high enough to see what was up there were turned back by the 15 feet high electrified fence. Topped with razor wire and reinforced with steel columns. If the visitor loitered too long a heavily armed, hostile soldier would come from the facility asking them to leave. A helicopter would appear and follow them down the mountain.
Inside the small, bland, almost invisible structure sat three technicians. They were responsible for attempting to contact a life form on a distant planet, at the far reaches of the galaxy. The laws of physics and mathematics had proven the existence of a planet, almost a mirror image of Earth, inhabited by an intelligent life form.
It was, the government felt at the time, imperative we establish relationships with the beings “before Ivan could.” Some things never change. But, as the years went by, the likelihood of communicating with the far planet seemed to diminish with each administration until it was decided to “quit throwing good money after bad” and put the facility on the auction block.
That is where we come in. Welcome to the new Life Explained Isolated New Mexico Deep Space Radio Operation. Man, we got that place for a song.
It is the first step in our Space Colonization Program. We always wondered how to track our
exploratory ships, the constant stream of supplies, the mining and building operations, and the possibility of finding other life forms. Now thanks to the government we can do all that, and maybe meet a few New Mexican desert ghosts.
If you are interested in a rotating shift at the facility send your resume Dr. Dawg. Include a cover letter describing what you would do if you actually met a ghost, and your favorite brand of frozen burrito.
Life is funny sometimes. It makes you laugh until your sides hurt kind of funny. Sometimes it is funny in a makes you scratch your head in amazed wonder. Occasionally it is the kind of funny that makes you want to scream in horror, not really funny at all. In fact life is kind of a roller coaster. And the funny thing, if you want to call it funny, is not everybody likes roller coasters.
Here is something to think about. Even people who like roller coasters don't like the parts of life that would be the valleys of the ride. The low parts of life that are trying, difficult and painful. Maybe life would be more similar to a hike through the woods. Parts are happy, easy cruising, pleasant sunshine peeking through the leaves hanging on the fruit laden trees.
In a flash the situation changes. There is a rain storm hurling cold drops of ice water at you with the force of a major league fastball. Lightning is flashing, thunder crashes, and the wind is howling, and you could swear it is screaming "I am coming for you."
When you seek comfort in a cave you discover it is the lair of a large, smelly, hungry predator. Andyou run at top speed out into the gathering disaster. Leaving all of your belongings in the cave. Dangit!!!
But, as you cross the ridge praying for safety there is a resort, complete with gift shop, discount groceries, and a movie theater.
Life is funny that way, sometimes. So, as you go through your days keep your eyes on the horizon, keep your mind on the trail, and keep your wits about you. And, whatever else you do, subscribe to Life Explained, your source for the explanation of life. Don't forget to donate to our new podcast* you won't regret it, as long as you don't donate too much.
My name is Rahul Singh, and I am a living creature that died yesterday. Sounds perplexing, right? However confusing the statement may read, no doubting its truth, or half-truth. I died in my dream, and the experience left me with an impression that's going to outlast time itself.
It was dusk-time, and I stood in an unknown place. Interestingly, I was dressed in a Suit, and seemed more like a body builder. I allowed myself to sit on a bench underneath a tree in a garden, which looked like it had been isolated for long.
Lost in deep thinking, I realized something was really weird. Problems with dreams are that there ain't enough emphasis on details. My mind felt perplexed 'bout the situation. I didn't need breathing, I couldn't feel my pulses, and whatever I did, I didn't seem to get injured. My vision seemed supernatural, I could even clearly see the ant that moved good 10 meters away from me.
I hate giving up on things I love, but everything here indicated that I wasn't human anymore. It was enough a reason to cry, but I couldn't, even jabbing my eyes with my fingers didn't help. I felt sad, and that was contradicting the situation as I never knew if dead people had feelings, and also the place seemed alien. I never had been there before.
I started walking from the place towards an unknown destination, and hours into the walk, there wasn't a part of me that felt tired. I kept walking through the night, and nothing changed for me. I realized I had lost life, and change was out of my curriculum.
Now, the question arose - where am I? After death, my granny had told me that we either went to heaven or to hell. The place being so desolated initially gave an impression of it being heaven, but later during the day I reached a place with concrete buildings, and all of the human-made machinery and other stuff. That meant builders, engineers had reached the place too, and I could see political hoardings and banners. I thought to myself - Okay, this must be hell.
All the voices of the cars and the people, I had been used to, when alive had added impressions of unknown voices that I wasn't used too, and that was annoying. Nobody seemed to notice me, and another hour I could see people quarreling over petty stuff, I could hear venomous stuff that some lads/lasses I passed by thought (not necessarily said, but I still could hear). I even saw blood, and misery.
I quickly moved on to a place of solitude, what was an isolated beach. I could still hear voices in my head, the voices which told of great misery. I reckoned that my heart wasn't breathing, but my learning hadn't ended. Somewhere, some puzzling queries of afterlife seemed answered, but many more confusions arose. I felt terrible at the thought of dying every moment, even after death. Then, I heard some soothing voices coming from behind. I needn't turn to find kids playing in the sand. Yet, not enough to make me feel alive, and more what I had eternity to live through, dead.
"All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out upon, See, hear, and am silent."
This is how Walt Whitman ends his poetry "I Sit and Look Out" resembling the struggle of 19th century. Unfortunately, things have only got worse since.
The dream ended with a stupid phone call, and being so helpless in it, ached my heart, but what I felt worse was that maybe, maybe reality isn't too different.
This is a work of fiction brought to you by a "cool kid born in a hot month". I also have a blog called Good Little Indian.
I know I do a lot of self-promotion, but my favourite line is, "Such is the world and it's creatures."
Beginning tomorrow, you will no longer be able to have a cigarette at Starbucks, anywhere, even on the patio. They have decided to ban smoking within 25 feet of their business. Of course, that is a business move based on customer satisfaction surveys, and the general trend lately has been to plant the flag of a business squarely in the non-smoking camp. It was the will of the people, and the people were thrilled.
Recently, Starbucks admitted to using water from a faucet located a few feet from a urinal in a "dingy bathroom" in Hong Kong. They have apologized for this, but it was the only source of water in the vicinity. And it was marked "drinking water, for Starbucks only." People were not happy. One person, posting on the Starbucks Hong Kong Facebook Wall insisted that they "fire the idiot who thought up" this unique solution to the water supply dilemma.
In many ways this is a perfect example of life. One minute you are enjoying a latte while surfing the web in a hip, smoke free, wifi hotspot, living the good life. The next you are drinking coffee made with water from a dingy bathroom, barely big enough for a sink and a urinal. Enjoy the good times, keep your head down and try to hurry through the rough parts. And always remember the gas pedal is on the right, and the brake is the smaller one on the left, that will save you a lot of troubles. If there is a third pedal consult the manual, it might be decorative, what other explanation is there?
After a day of clicking on +1's, sharing all my favorite blogs, pinning, blogging my own posts, reading posts anddddd starting a collection on Google + all my own, which is beautiful by the way, I'm done for the night!
Tomorrow is another day which I will wake up, streach, walk like a zombie to get my coffee, enjoy the day and hopefully get in some new blog reading time:)
Today was in the 40's which is a heatwave as far as I'm concerned so Mrs. Spring I'm ready for you. I got this little squishy baby chicken that lights up when you shake it for little Barrett.
Easter and all the wonderful colors and church services, for some, is coming along with hope eternal.
No word today for this post cos I'm starving and tomorrow being March 1st the stop stuffing your face month begins:)
I sit here at my notebook gazing out the window idly gazing at the empty house at the end of our street asking myself how is it fair with all the homeless we have in this state and town it can remain so.
From what I understand and I won't quote what I heard it was selling for but it's supposedly for people who are on a low income. In fact, it's through an agency that we have applied to and got approved, waiting for our turn. We are on a waiting list. A very long waiting list.
Before, a very old house that was falling apart stood where this brand new house is sitting now. We all listened and watched as the workers demolished the old house warning the neighborhood kids to stay away from that area. That was 2 summers ago. I'm sorry the picture is so dark but once again we have some very dark clouds hovering over St. Johnsbury.
Since today is Saint Valentine's Day it seems appropriate to talk a little about how to have a successful marriage. Keep in mind that success is a somewhat user definable word, some consider the lack of failure to be success. Moreover marriage, for the sake of this lesson can include a wide variety of lengthy relationships, including having a job, owning a pet, or watching a television series.
Essentially, this post is going to teach you how to successfully not fail at almost everything that could possibly happen.
1. Lower your expectations. The less you expect the more likely you are to be happy. Generally speaking, there are billions of people in the world, and only so much of the good stuff that makes life great. If you have enough to be slightly above miserable, you are successful. Good Job, sport, pat yourself on the back.
2. Learn to cook. Basically, the world is divided into two types of people, those who can cook and those who will clean the kitchen if somebody else cooks. In the grand scheme of things cooking is much less distasteful than doing dishes, so make sure you get to be the one to make the mess. This also makes it much easier to ignore the disaster that strikes every time you try to bread chicken, "my God, how did you get flour on the ceiling?" "Cooking is an act of passion, and must be entered into with abandon, now mop the ceiling." Score one for the chef!
Order your "I'm with Me" shirt today.
3. As a side note to rule 2, make sure you have enough cash, or credit, that when it comes time to order takeout you fall firmly in the "I'll buy, you fly," category. There are few things that are more miserable than coming home on Friday, after a week that lasted almost a month, popping open a beer, sitting around in your best sweats, the greasy, paint splattered ones that say, "I'm with stupid" and have an arrow pointing at your head, and having to drive over to Geppetto's to pick up a couple of pies. Way to game the system, you are a winner.
4. Don't be a jerk. If someone offends you ignore them. There are better ways to waste your time than letting the world step all over what could probably be a mediocre day, with very few real problems. Let's hear if for you, you are the man.
5. When you get an email, always take at least ten minutes before pressing delete without reading it. If you delete it right away people will think you don't have anything to do, and might have the time to do something. Doing things can provide so many opportunities for failure. Failure is not going to make you happy. Sprinkles for everyone, sprinkles are for winners.
6. Count to ten, I don't know why, but that is advice on a lot of lists about living a healthy life. Better yet, count to fifteen, is ten is good fifteen must be great. And we think you are great.
Follow these simple rules and you will have a happy marriage, job, and life, your pets will be happy, and television will be so much better. We know you can do it. For those who don't like to read, here it is in video format.
Light comes in layers. Bright, revealing, glare that cast shadows. Shadows that seem even darker because of the light. Shadows that hide everything we ever imagined, or were afraid to imagine.
Maybe I should start giving lessons.
