Then & Now

I've started a new book, written by the author of Seabiscuit, Laura Hillenbrand.  Her new book, titled Unbroken, is the tale of Louie Zamperini and World War II.  Hillenbrand has a gift for taking history and transforming it into a wonderfully entertaining written account.  I remember picking up Seabiscuit, at the urging of others, and thinking to myself how little I knew or really cared to know about racing horses.  But, with great surprise, I couldn't learn enough or get enough of the author's tale.  As I continue through Unbroken, I can tell already that it will be the same experience.  The criss-crossing of personal experiences and the world's stage as a backdrop create an appetite for more.  As many of us know, everyone has a story; but, we're just not all lucky enough to have a gifted author like Hillenbrand to properly convey the story and make it so interesting.  

As I rounded out the first 100 pages of the book last night, all that kept passing through my mind is how all of the technological advances made between then and now have totally changed the way humanity thinks and exists.  The resourcefulness demonstrated by the group of airmen with whom Zamperini is stationed is like nothing else I've seen or experienced in my lifetime.  That is not to say we do not have brilliant thinkers to this day.  It's that, in many cases, these men had to depend on their own independent, innovative and novel approaches to their individual tasks aboard their B-24 or else there could be major disaster.  There was no master plan or manual that answered all of their questions, leaving them to a rather mechanical task.  Between Hillenbrand's telling of Zamperini's youth and his entry into the draft and, subsequently, the war, it becomes clear that there was far less "noise" in the world at that time.  By noise, I refer to all of the technological distractions of today, easily-accessible entertainment outlets and excess of money making a lot more possible to take advantage of all that is out there.  Simply put, this generation had a lot more free time on its hands to fill in more interactive, not to mention, challenging ways.  Nothing at all was a simple click away.

Today, things are so easily accessed.  We want music, we download it from iTunes;  just a decade or so ago, I would have still had to at least wait until I could make the trek to a music store, which is now almost unheard of.  We want a book, we either download it instantly to one of our many devices or order it, knowing it will arrive within a few days.  There isn't even really space for desire when it comes to learning about current events and news anymore.  The space that used to be inhabited by curiosity or anticipation has all but disappeared now that we have instant gratification (oftentimes before there is even a chance for desire to be born) through Twitter, Facebook, e-mail alerts, etc.  My only fear in contemplating these things is that there is a certain creativity that came out of having to really figure out how to access these things before.  Because they weren't readily available, there was a certain appreciation for them, and in the meantime, there was an appreciation for what was already there--in most cases human interaction and socialization with family and friends.

I'm sure that Hillenbrand's thought-provoking tale will only continue to dig this hole of thought even deeper in my mind.  While there is no way to revisit this time incarnate, I'm super grateful to have the opportunity to experience it through her writing and Zamperini's perspective.        

Knowledge on the Doorstep

I am naturally curious about a lot of stuff.  In addition, my job forces me to know a lot about stuff that, otherwise, I would probably know nothing about.  Particularly, corporate world sort of stuff, which is the furthest from my natural universe.  For instance, I would never sift through SEC filings for a company that has just gone public through an initial public offering.  I would definitely not take stock of their choice of anti-takeover provisions within those filings.  But, since my job does require me to have some knowledge about stuff like this, I have been attempting for some time to toss a wide net and bring in any and all relevant information I can pertaining to the everyday business operations unraveling around the world.  Where do I turn for this information?  Well, it's a good excuse to turn to good old-fashioned print media and newspapers, in particular.


Years ago, I developed an affinity for The New York Times.  While still in school, there was a good portion of the time that my college had daily editions available.  That eventually came to an end, but I would make my way to newsstands to pick up the Sunday edition and had home delivery while working out of our New York City office.  Then, there was a time after moving back to Wheeling that I would receive a mailed copy of the Sunday paper two or three days after the fact.  Old news is no fun to read, so that was short-lived.  Last year at some point, I turned back to the New York Times, hoping for a miracle when I searched to see if their home delivery was available in East Liverpool, OH, where I was living at the time.  Through the online system, the claim was, yes, delivery was available for my zipcode.  Unfortunately, to spare the grim details, delivery was not available, and many many phone calls and handwritten letters later, I'm still convincing them that I owe them no overdue balance because I never received any product.   


Just earlier this week, after sort of falling head over heels for Marketwatch reports on NPR and the stories on the iPhone app, I meandered my way to the home delivery page of the Wall Street Journal.  There have been a few times that, out of desperation, we've picked up the weekday edition, and I have been pleasantly surprised that the stories are made interesting and not so saturated with business lingo that the point is lost.  This is good.  To my surprise, the Journal is available for home delivery in Wheeling, and against my better judgment, based on my recent experience with the Times, I subscribed.    

Yesterday was the first day the paper was due for delivery, so I eagerly watched for the delivery and searched the perimeter of the house.  No paper.  Due to experience, I was prepared to report the problem and immediately cancel the subscription and was completely deflated.  To my great surprise, though, I arrived home from work, checked the mailbox, and there it was!  It arrived by mail rather than paperboy, but it was the Thursday edition and it was here!

After settling from this great surprise, my mind was piqued with curiosity.  How did the Journal do it?  How did they get a print copy of their paper to me on the same day that it was released?  I don't know your experience with the USPS, but it can take upwards of 2 days for letters to travel a block away since they usually travel the block by way of Pittsburgh (serious?).  In addition, the same process required 2-3 days for the Times in the past.  I will admit that I actually "googled" some phrases to figure out how they do this, but I came up with nothing.  I'm in awe of their well-oiled system, and I have to place the WSJ at the top as my preferred print newspaper.  An unexpected, yet pleasing turn of events.

 

Playground Politics

As I read a story today about the presidential race, I couldn't help but be reminded of my days spent on the playground of Park View Elementary.  I guess, in all fairness, the memories could also spill over to the basketball courts of Triadelphia Middle School (this was the recreational space where we spent our much more sophisticated middle school recess time), but I believe the parallel with the Park View playground would be most fitting.  Why?  Because recess at Park View was much more rich with imagination, make believe and, more than anything, imagined power.  

The story I was reading was in the Wall Street Journal and titled, "Clues Emerge on Romney's VP Pick."  As I read the story, it became apparent, first, how much speculation is involved in this phase of the presidential race.  But, as opposed to the overwhelmingly controversial tone of virtually every other aspect of the race, there's a certain playfulness about this aspect.  While the closing paragraph of the story focuses on commentary directly from Romney on the subject, in which he asserts that only he and one other advisor are privy to the inner workings of this selection, the story seems to outline in cut-and-dry fashion, the obvious choices.  Going back to the commentary from Romney, though, there is a seductive mystique surrounding the choice.  Millions are watching and guessing, but in reality, his rhetoric confirms that the center of power really lies in a very small sphere.

Now, moving to Park View Elementary.  To walk past the school today, which now stands as a random center of businesses amidst an otherwise residential backdrop, one would never guess that throngs of children passed through its quarters and ruled its playground.  There was the kickball/wiffle ball field, basketball court (with the priceless foursquare framework), the monkey bars, ropes, slide, fireman's pole, etc.  Our gym class would often be moved outside in good weather to the kickball field,  and virtually all recess times (weather permitting) were spent in various corners of the rest of the playground.

Memories of choosing teams in gym class definitely parallel the Romney story.  No one would know exactly when they would be chosen by which team leader, but there was definitely a sense of superiority laid at the feet of team captains.  And if you were the poor soul chosen last for a team, well, your place in the pecking order was indelibly sketched--at least for the remainder of that day.  So, the fleeting nature of who is in and who is out also reflects the politics of team selection from the Park View days.  It was not uncommon for the person chosen last one day to be the one chosen first the next.  No real rhyme or reason, just politics.  And don't think there was never a place for advisers like Romney's Beth Myers, as this was a key factor in the decision-making process of the all-powerful team captains.

I realize running our country is not child's play.  Whoever ends up our leader for the next term has quite the work to do (but, don't be fooled by the media, as I'm pretty sure that problems as we're encountering now have always existed--it's just a new set for a new day), however I couldn't help but point out the familiar tone that these two seemingly disparate spheres of life share.  If only the race could be decided by a simple game of kickball...or red rover.

Books and Their Authors

As a student of literature in college, I was often witness to the ongoing debate regarding the importance of author background or biography in understanding works.  Personally, I was always of the mind that it wasn't necessary to have this background.  Most literary creations stem from personal experience, of course, but my thinking was reader understanding wouldn't necessarily be dependent on a full review of the author's background.  This all changed for me earlier this week when I picked up Jeanette Winterson's memoir,
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?.

When I lived in Philadelphia, Winterson came highly recommended by a manager of mine at Borders Books & Music (dear Borders:  I miss you.)  The passion with which he explained the works that he had read gave me an itch to experience them myself.  Well, several years later I finally picked up Art & Lies.  When I put this book down, I felt as though I had just attempted a reading in a foreign language in which I had no training.  The theme, the dialogue...everything seemed one too many times removed for my understanding.  However, Winterson remained this enigmatic figure for me.  I believe part of this was that no reading had ever left me so puzzled, so it was partially a challenge, which always increases determination on my end.

A few months ago, I was flipping through the New York Times book review, and I discovered that Winterson had this new memoir pending release.  The review shed it in a fairly good light, so I decided that I would pick it up and explore it.  As soon as I started to read it this week, I quickly realized that Winterson and her works did not need to be dismissed from my queue of reading.  The memoir is rich with thought, a whole spectrum of emotion and some pretty amazing history.  Even more, though, I've realized that my education in Winterson's past experiences and life will definitely help inform my reading of her works.  My guess is that I would have actually continued to stuggle with understanding had I not picked up her memoir.  So, I guess the verdict is so much for my initial conviction that an author's biographical background is not helpful in one's reading of a work.

As much as I'm consumed by an impulse for infinite organization and categorization, I think this is something I'll have to leave in the more flexible bucket of thought.  I guess I'll also have to lighten up a bit in my harsh judgment of memoirs.  In recent years, I feel we've been inundated by this genre, and it's left me with this feeling that reality television is also taking over the print medium.  But, this is one case when I can safely say that the tale was worth being told.

Technology Addict

Over the last several years, I've worked so hard to not overindulge in the material side of life.  I would treat myself from time to time, but all-in-all, I tried to hold back.  During this time, technology has been a serious weak spot for me.  I think I've become better at justifying reasons for upgrading gadgets than I have at justifying reasons to eat and sustain myself otherwise.

My most recent addition to my tech family is an iMac.  I already owned a perfectly suitable MacBook Pro, iPhone, iPod and Apple TV.  But, I've been sort of cyber-stalking the iMac because the combination of space-saving and a bigger monitor for working at home was severely attractive.  So, I finally decided to make the move.  Needless to say, I have not been disappointed and practically grow weak in my knees each time I walk into my living room and see the new family member.

Now, what I've realized more recently is that I probably feed this tech obsession by also gifting technology.  We're all chipping in and giving my dad a Kindle Touch for Father's Day...this just on the heels of his iPhone 4S purchase.  Although he originates from the less tech-savvy generation, he's catching on to things fairly quickly, and he's seeing the amazing benefits there can be to the tech connection.  Also, he is about one year into retirement, and I think he's realizing that with technology, his time spent exploring can be really fruitful.  In any case, this Father's Day purchase only came about because he made a minor comment during a visit, which sparked the magic in my mind.  Granted, I already have a regular Kindle (which I barely use because, let's face it, how many gadgets can I possibly run at one time?), but I sort of feel like I'll live vicariously through him as he gets to open up a whole new sphere of technological experiences.

I'm not sure how this addiction to such expensive toys will ultimately play out for me, but I do have to say I'm glad to be learning more and more retailers are offering gadget recycling programs.  With this knowledge, I'm sure my justifications will be that much more consoling.

Without Books...

...where would we be???  This question comes to mind often for me, but it does so even more when I'm in the midst of a really good read.  I'm currently reading An Uncommon Education by Elizabeth Percer.  It's one of those books that proves really difficult to put down at night.  My eyes begin to feel like the 20 pound weights in the corner of the room have taken up residence in their lids.  It's steeped in culture, history, creativity and everything in between.  The complexities encountered by this ambitious, fictional character's life are so relatable, even real.  Her world becomes mine for that half hour or 45 minutes I can spare before passing out for slumber.

So, it's times like these that I truly wonder where we would all be without books.  It doesn't matter whether you are a "reader" or not.  At some point in your life, the mechanics of reading and the power of imagination has touched you.  Have you had to problem solve?  Have you had to come up with some creative solution to an impossible question?  Not life-and-death matters.  I refer simply to every day.  Misplace a crucial item but have a deadline or need to be somewhere like work?  Your brain automatically rushes into resolution mode.  Elements of this process are found really early on when you're young and you learn of cartoon characters and their infinite portfolio of crazy circumstances.  Or you learn the fundamentals as your parents sit with you as a young child and read you a short story, and then a fairytale and then hand a novel to you so that you can read it to them.  These are all examples of the seeds being planted before we even know that we'll need the resulting fruits.

So, tomorrow, when you encounter the inevitable challenge of the day, take a quick moment to appreciate the roots of your ability to navigate the challenge.  And if you have little ones around, offer them the seeds.  Some day, somewhere, they will look back and be eternally grateful. 

Misinformed

One of the things I'm noticing with age is that it's now a regular occurrence for me to feel misinformed.  I guess this is a good thing because it means I'm learning to trust my own experience over word of mouth.  However, I can't help but wonder each time how the storyline has continued to expand over years and generations.  This goes for a variety of scenarios and topics.  Whether it's the quality of a restaurant, price of food or other goods, gossip or any of the many other topics of human conversation.  Opinions are regularly passed.  This is a fact.  The reality, though, is that what is passed is not always fact.

The most recent realization materialized just the other day.  There have been some health issues with my feline companion, Lotus.  Now, I love this cat dearly, but my conclusion after leaving him at the vet for some testing was that cats are not as simple as everyone purports them to be.  I would almost bet money (if I were the betting type) that I could approach any known or unknown person possible, and each and every one of those people, if asked, would give the opinion that cats are easier pets to have then dogs. 

This may be true in some respects.  For instance, there's not a lot to litter training a cat.  You don't have to go stand in the soaking rain with them.  You don't have to change your routine to suit the needs of their bladders.  They're fairly self-sufficient, if you're lucky, in these ways.  They can stay home alone for long periods.  And the list goes on.  However, when the most important stuff crops up, like health issues, a cat is going to be the hardest patient for many, many reasons.  Not least, they're next to impossible to diagnose without spending nearly enough money to put you in financial shape not dissimilar from Greece.  So, treatment is like a shot in the dark, and you must hold your breath for what seems an eternity.  I'm convinced that dogs not only prove easier to diagnose and fix (I'm not arguing that it will end up any cheaper in the end), but they don't get such weird stuff in the first place.  Why do I say this?  Because 3 out of 3 cats, a variety of both male and female, a variety of mix breeds, etc., that I have owned in my short adult lifetime have had crazy health issues.

So, I guess the lesson is that one should never just take the public's word for it.  While this seems like common sense, I'm not sure I ever realized how much of my life functions around raging generalizations.  I'm so grateful to have had each of these kitties in my life, and I would never change a thing, but I have to admit that my young and eager-to-own-a-pet mind only landed on cats due to their popularity for being so simple.  Was I misinformed?  It would seem that way.  Will I be misinformed again?  The trend points to yes.  Am I jumping on the myth-busters train?  Absolutely. 

The Harmony to My Melody

Being the lover of music that I am, I have always been able to appreciate good harmony.  Sure, it takes the back seat to the melody most of the time, but just think of how boring and flat music would be without it.  Perhaps a more fascinating subject is that of life's unending harmony.  In life events, there is always the events and happenings at the forefront (melody) and then there are all of those tiny little evolving parts that make up the backdrop for the forefront (harmony).  In recent weeks, months and even years, I've begun to really appreciate this backdrop or harmony.

How many times have you heard people say that while life wasn't being awful to them, they don't feel settled or at peace with how things are?  Maybe they describe the feeling as restless.  Well, my thinking is that this restlessness greatly results from some disconnect within all of those little seemingly insignificant moving parts.  The harmony of life.  The Pips to your Gladys Knight.  Perhaps this will emerge more clearly with a real world example.

For the past six years of my life, I've worked in a role where I never really felt rooted.  I think this greatly came from stumbling into the role by accident.  I stumbled into the role by accident because I had created this future vision for myself, mostly based on the opinions and feedback of others.  So, when I started to move further away from that vision, but was at a junction where I had to support myself and make some sort of progress, I took the first job I was offered.  Once I started that job, it slowly transformed into my career.  And although it's been six years, I have only come to terms with this new future vision in the past several weeks.  But, a large part of coming to terms with my new future vision and planning, has been finding great peace in the smaller moving parts and seemingly insignificant corners.  Basically, life was a bit disconnected to this point for me.  I definitely had my melody, and I had a multi-faceted harmony, but they were in different keys.  I finally have a clear vision as to what I want to do with my time (you know that fleeting time outside of work), who I want to love and how I want to be loved, where and how I want to settle, what truly fills my soul with joy and allowing myself the space to clear time for that experience of joy.   

So, I guess today I am grateful for all of my minor chords and overall harmony.  Who knew that it would only be when the harmony emerged that the melody would have a steady beat to follow?  Life is good.   

The Art of Racing in the Rain

A few years ago, upon my return to Wheeling from New York, a good friend gave me a copy of Garth Stein's The Art of Racing in the Rain.  I think one must be a true lover of animals to really get into this book, but on a more philosophical level, it's a very powerful and true message.  To be extremely high-level, the book is the story of a man struggling in his car racing career and his canine companion, who sticks by his side as a loyal friend throughout his trials and tribulations.  For me, the book spoke to making the best of all of the bad or challenging stuff that life tosses your way (the challenges symbolized by the rain). 

I was reminded of this book today as we strolled along the neighborhood streets with Riley and Tucker and the weekend edition, Piper.  As we set out, dark, ominous clouds began to take shape and congregate almost directly overhead.  So, at one point very early in the walk, we had to make a choice to either speed it up quite a bit to get home before the rain or turn around.  We headed on, basically going half of the circuit we normally do.  Just as we got home, the heavens opened.  Thankfully, we avoided the contained odor of three dogs in our little bungalow home. 

My mind wandered, though, to the pages of Stein's book.  Rain falls on us all, quite a bit actually.  So, life, in a sense, is really about perfecting the art of racing in the rain.  One must learn to take the challenges in stride and even improve life overall while overcoming each and every obstacle.  I don't know about others, but most every time I'm hit with a new challenge, one of my first thoughts is, "Gee, when is this dark cloud going to clear?  When is life going to be easier?"  But, I think the reality is that all of those little blips on the radar are life.  Without them, life would lose texture and the power of teaching.  As I've said to a couple of co-workers, I remember best how to do those things that, at some point or another, I really messed up.  So, I guess it's good to look at all of life's challenges that way.  Dance with every drop of rain, take it in and be accepting of the next.

Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, wrote the following in her poem, "Dreams"...

When the rain is over
I go to the woods.
The path is a swamp, the trees still dripping.
And the creeks!
Only last week they poured smoothly,
Curled like thread about the mossy stones
And sang with the voices of birds.

Now they are swollen and driven with muds and
  ambitions.
They gallop and steam
As though, crazed by this week of rain,
They sense ahead--and desire it--
A new life in a new land
Where vines tumble thick as ship-ropes,
The ferns grow tall as trees!

And so, the next time it rains--literally or figuratively--remember that it's the perfect opportunity to hone your skills to navigate life's rainy times.  Whether a spring shower or drenching fall rain, they all leave us with something...life. 
 

Chance Meeting and Life Lesson

Last weekend, we were buzzing around, taking care of all of the normal chores of a normal Saturday when we decided to stop at Wendy's for a quick bite before continuing on with errands.  Upon entering, we found a family of four at the counter, ordering, and one elderly man leaning against the railings just before the counter.  So, we stepped into line behind the older gentleman, not really thinking about it.  Within a minute or two, a conversation began that would leave us both in contemplative silence. 

The older man, who we came to know as Jack, turned to us to let us know he was with the family at the counter and that we could step in front of him.  But, as we quickly found out, that wasn't all Jack wanted to say.  He began to explain that the family of four was in town from Nebraska, and then he started to take in several sharp breaths as he explained that they were in town because his wife of 71 years had passed away the Tuesday preceding.  They had just buried her the day before we were meeting Jack.  Fighting back a total flood of tears, with the sharp breaths continuing, he explained that his wife had been sick for three years prior but that he had made sure to take very good care of her.  He said that she didn't always like the visiting nurses, so he would have the nurses teach him to do what they needed to do and he would then perform the care.  He went on to say that if she saw him in the shape he was in, meaning in tears, she would say, "Jackson, you pull yourself together!"  He told us, as if 71 years is not impressive enough or enough of a lifetime, that they had also dated for 4 years before marrying. 

We ate in silence after parting ways with Jack.  It was difficult to shake the lessons and humbling that came with such a conversation.  At some point, I scoured the previous week's obituaries to find the death notice for Jack's wife.  Her name was Jessie, and she was 90 years old.  So, she spent 3/4 of her life with Jack.  That's pretty amazing.  The bottom line for him, less than a week after her parting, was that he missed her.  But, while she probably would have told him to pull himself together, I wanted to say to him (but failed to find the words as my heart ached for him) that he didn't have to pull himself together.  I wanted him to know that part of the reason we were led to Wendy's was to help him carry that grief.  I wanted to tell him he need not be ashamed of his sorrow and grief.

After much thought about this chance encounter, I realized something.  Initially, I felt compelled to see this meeting as something that happened so that we could help Jack.  What I believe now is that it was really the other way around.  It was a meeting that taught me so much about love, relationships, human connection, purpose.  So, we sent a card to Jack to say it was a privilege to meet him and that we send our best as he finds his way through this time because Jack taught us more than years of life could possibly teach.