Passing the Baton

I've always seen the United States Postal Service a something completely separate from UPS or FedEx.  Granted, they've always done the same thing, but in a leg race, FedEx would come in first, UPS second and USPS third.  

I'm always sort of entertained by the length of time it can take items to process through the USPS.  I understand there are funding problems and, I'm sure, all sorts of other reasons.  But, basically, anytime a package of mine has been due for delivery, I've preferred FedEx or UPS.  They are simply more predictable, and to use one of the modern-day buzz words of America, they are transparent.  You can track them  as they bump their way from spot to spot, and now, you can even receive an e-mail or text confirming that they've finally bumped their way to your doorstep.

Recently, I wrote a post about my daily subscription to the Wall Street Journal, highlighting how impressed I was by the USPS's ability to get my newspaper to me the same day that it was magically dropped at the local post office.  Yesterday, though, this fascination was further compounded when a package I was expecting that had been en route for a couple of days via UPS was confirmed as having been "delivered to local post office."  I thought I was reading it wrong at first, but after a second glance, I confirmed my first reading of the information.  So, immediately, the question arose in my mind:  why would one major delivery logistics company drop my package off to someone else on the last leg of its journey?  And, besides that main question, why would UPS, the more successful runner of the race, pass the baton to the loser?

I was skeptical about whether my package would really get here, as predicted.  But, alas, the mail lady arrived, box in hand, and the final leg of the race was a success.  Still, I can't help thinking repeatedly...how strange is this part of the delivery logistics?!  It would sort of be like a rock star specialist surgeon, passing the scalpel just before the successful completion of a surgery to the "general surgeon."  Who wants the general surgeon to be their closer?

I'm guessing this either has to do with:

• (Idealistic Reason) the problems of layoffs at the USPS, and UPS's partnering efforts to prevent further ones; or
• (Cynical Reason) UPS capitalizing in the end by avoiding the most expensive part of the delivery process, which would be employing the driver who would have to drive his big loud UPS truck, which gets a 1/2 mile to the gallon, to my house, thereby allowing the poor schmuck of a mail lady to handle the final stage of execution since she was going to be stopping by anyhow.  

I'm still baffled about how UPS can drop a mail item off in the morning and ensure it's delivered, via USPS, that same day.  It's usually any one's guess when one drops a letter or bill in the mail as to when it will actually arrive at its destination.  This passing of the baton trick has made me wonder if there's a special bay somewhere at the post office where I could drop my rent off on the frequent occasions that I remember it's the day before or day that it's due.    

On the Birthday of Hemingway

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

Today is the birthday of one of my absolute favorites in literature--Ernest Hemingway.  Having passed away in 1961, he's been gone for quite some time.  But it was decades later when I was first introduced to his work, and so much of his work lives on today as some of the most popular.

One of my favorite things about Hemingway, in fact, grows out of his presence across generations.  I recall when I first spoke of him and his work, my mom's ears immediately perked up.  This provided one of those fun bridges just as Steinbeck does.  Other things that bring Hemingway a little closer to home for me include his passion for fishing, which is of huge importance in my family, the simplicity of his prose and yet the complex relationships that grow out of that and, last but not least, the legend surrounding his cats with six toes in Key West.

As a whole, I'm fascinated by Hemingway's generation--the 1920s expatriate authors.  My fondness for that group of authors, in particular, is rooted in the distinct culture they created and maintained.  In fact, I found myself having a lot in common with Owen Wilson's character, Gil, from Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, which spotlights Hemingway and his contemporaries.  This being the case, one of my favorite works is Hemingway's memoir, A Moveable Feast, from which the above quote comes.  This work breathed life into the amazing artists of this time, lending them each personalities and quirks as the real people they were.  This made it a pretty magical read for me, and I recommend it to others.


In thinking more about the quote above, I believe Hemingway's thought here is universal.  We can expand it to encapsulate so much of life.  In other words, most if not all of life's experiences are moveable feasts.  Just as he carried the moveable feasts of war, complicated relationships and Paris with him, we all carry our various experiences with us.  The gift he had was taking all of these moveable feasts and making them lasting works of literature.   


And so today, as you carry on about your Saturday business, take a quick few minutes to think about Hemingway--perhaps even pick up one of his short story works like, "Hills Like White Elephants," or "Big Two-Hearted River" or "The Snows of Kilimanjaro."  I am so glad to know his work and his life, and his many illustrations that behind simple is always complex.  Isn't this true in all of life?     

Six Months of Happy

What a difference 6 months makes!  I started to reminisce a bit this morning as I was spending some time with Tucker, and I had to share some observations about the last 6 months of learning & loving my canine companion.  

• From baby to best friend.  The day Tucker traveled home with me, he was a little ball of fur, tightly curled up in my mom's arms as I drove us home.  He was pretty miserable from his car travels, so he did nothing but sleep and look sad for about 24 hours.  After that 24 hours, it was about 4 months of him being a baby in every meaning of the word, and this made for a lot of work.  I didn't mind the work because I love playing the role of caretaker--it satisfies the deepest depths of my being.  But, what I soon realized is the incredible reward that would eventually come in return of that care.  At this point, Tucker has become a best friend.  He pretends to enjoy everything I ask him to do, putting up no fight.  This includes baths, trips to the vet and the inevitable "beauty shop" time I submit him to on a regular basis.  Most important, he's excited about the start of each and every new day.  In fact, I would go so far as to say he's elated at the light of each new day.  This, on most days, is contagious.  All of this positive return makes him the best best friend a girl could ask for.  
• Learning in silence.  Bonding with Tucker has taught me a ton about intuitive bonding...without words.  In most relationships in your life, you gradually learn about people through their own words and indications.  It's been a beautiful process to learn Tucker's likes, dislikes, triggers for fear, most effective means of praise, etc.  My experience has been that the world sort of has to go away sometimes so that I can "listen" to him and read his body language.  I may have accumulated a plethora of harnesses, collars and leashes, but we've finally figured out what he best likes for taking walks.  This is important because as he's grown from a mere 12 pound, easily pliable puppy, into a not-so-easily-pliable 51 pound puppy, he has gradually surpassed me in strength.  I've also learned that he really loves ice cubes and will stop just about any poor behavior for one.  He also really enjoys some concentrated time for love and hugs after his breakfast and just before bed.  All of this, I've only learned through close attention and an almost meditative approach to our bond.  
• Wherever I go, there you are.  One of the most endearing traits about Tucker is that he's emphatically mine.  There's always some stir happening in the house, which includes another human, another canine and a feline.  But, despite all of this "noise,"  Tucker stays so focused on me.  I go about chores or go to the bedroom to read before bed, and whether he was dead asleep or not when I decided to do this stuff, he appears at my side.  He doesn't care if I can't pet him or pay him all of my attention.  He just likes to be within eyesight.  The comfort and adoration that accompanies this habit of his makes me wonder how I didn't feel like I was missing something before him.  
• My very own Richard Simmons.  So, he lacks the fancy fitness attire and high energy expressions of encouragement.  However, he definitely has the curly hair, and he has definitely shown me the way to consistent exercise and better health.  We take walks in the early morning as well as the later evenings, providing the temp drops below 100 degrees.  And these walks have become so enjoyable.  It was not always this way...this has definitely been an evolution.  Initially, I could barely convince him to step a paw outside of our front yard.  His canine sister Riley, who is approximately one-third his size, gradually taught him the ways of pounding the pavement as a four-legged companion.  And it's only been within the past month or two that he's decided he can fend for himself and take walks with me, minus Riley.  Now, he's so in love with walks that he sits his straightest sit, giving his loveliest glance, and gently whines to remind me it's time to leave for our walk.  The hour of walking we do together in a day has been great for my health as well.  And, as a walking partner/canine child, Tucker convinces me we shouldn't skip our walk simply by being.  It's not like the guilt you feel if you slip out on a human walking partner, it stems from a general concern for their health as your pet, which for me has been like the experience of caring for a child.  I want nothing but the best for him, and without a word, he confirms he wants the best for me.        

And so, my experience with Tucker has been one that started with great love and affection, but it is something that has grown into a much deeper bond.  There is a mutual caretaker role that neither one of us seems to mind.  In fact, it's such a natural and harmonious connection that it's hard to believe it's only been 6 months.  I thank my lucky stars each and every day for his love and his good health, and I can't wait to spend many more months watching him grow.

Part Two: Ruminations on Money & Morality

Another situation in the news that further advanced my disappointment in moral decision-making when money is involved, is the natural gas boom that's going on locally and the notorious fracking technique used for natural gas production.  I have been skeptical about the gas industry's entry into the Ohio Valley ever since the entry began.  Why?  Historically speaking, no industry or corporation overpays or even properly compensates those who provide resources.  As such, the buzz and excitement surrounding how much money was out there for those willing to sell their land's mineral rights to these companies made me feel a certain level of discomfort.  The local economy has been depressed ever since the local industries slowly died, and so the fact that these gas companies were coming in and offering pennies on the dollar for people's land rights and were heralded as breathing life back into the Valley, to me, has remained ridiculous.  The differential that results between what these "booming" companies have to give versus what, in reality, they're offering promises to be pretty large.  And they play off of the fact that these are people who have struggled for decades now.  Taking advantage of struggling citizens is frowned upon.  Unless there is a bundle of money to be made.

My feelings on this unfolding situation grew even more uneasy as I listened to a news story on NPR last week.  Christopher Joyce reported a story on All Things Considered, titled "Rising Shale Water Complicates Fracking Debate."  While there is a lot discussed in this story that is of interest, the overall message, for me, is that there is little to nothing known or confirmed about the environmental or human effects of fracking.  There has not been enough time for full studies to be conducted before these companies moved in to various locations and started drilling away for their golden resource.  Do we use widespread medical treatments on patients before they've been properly studied on a small number of people to ensure humanity's well being?  No.  Why?  Medical ethics.  So, why then is it widely accepted for billion dollar industry moguls to set up camp, disrupting ecosystems and virtually every other part of life, without proper assurance that people will not actually suffer as a result of this novel approach to extracting resources?

Money and its worth have always been interesting to me in relation to the actions of humans.  It is such a temporary commodity (because we gobble it up then spend it), and yet we seem so willing to toss our morals out the window if we can just get some more of it.  In the meantime, the currency that really matters, our relationships with one another, take a backseat.  Our relationships with one another, our relationship with the land and our responsibility to promote the positive and growth in both...these are the things that matter most--at least in my mind.  My fear is that there are a lot of people who will someday reach their end, and it will only be then that they realize the damage they've done by placing their relationship with money above all of this.

Part One: Ruminations on Money & Morality

I have been working very hard to avoid the topic of Jerry Sandusky in my posts.  I have done so partially because of the mad coverage by the media otherwise but also because it is one of the few world events that has left me without words.  In addition to the unthinkable actions on his part, I've become more and more tormented by the lack of moral infrastructure present in what seems an infinite number of other adults. 

I think about the situation, and I see the lure of money--lots of money--being a primary concern throughout.  And I wonder when it is that the human mind abandons the role of protection and migrates to the role of greediness.  When was it that Joe Paterno or the university's president or others began to abandon the well-being of children in the interest of money?  Moreover, when did they convince themselves that this disgusting situation would forever stay under wraps, and their actions (in favor of money rather than morality) were the best route?  For me, the tragedy in this situation is self-evident.  What is most puzzling is how an adult mind fails so completely.  The failure, in my opinion, is the complete abandonment of concern for humanity.  This failure is further complicated by a shortsightedness.  By choosing to avoid bad press (ironic at this point) and, in some cases, the path most financially fruitful, these individuals have forgotten about the wide expanse of the net that they cast.  What is one of the most common reports you hear about child sexual abuse?  It is that the abuser has been violated, him or herself, as a child.  So, in effect, all of these adults actively chose to allow this widening pall on humanity.  Right now, we are learning the details of the central scandal, eventually, we will probably hear more about the ripple effects.  

Morals, it seems, are generally forgotten in the face of money.  There are far fewer stories about the good that folks do with their excess than there are the disappointing stories about their ultimate demise because of their excess.  Out of this mess at Penn State, my hope is that others will learn and do things a little differently.  It's unlikely that this is the first or only instance of such failure.  Where money reigns, conditions appear ideal for such failure and shortsightedness.  





    

 

First Harvest

Besides a couple of friends I knew growing up, who lived on farms, I'm pretty sure most of the members of my generation know very little about growing and harvesting produce.  I say this because it was almost breaking news for me when I read about growing seasons in Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.  Ever since I can remember, I would walk into a grocery store and see the same collection of produce from which to choose.  There may have been small reminders, like the annual opening of the Ebbert Farm Market in St. Clairsville, OH, but otherwise, I sort of just assumed everything was grown all the time.  I also never had any appreciation for what a difference it makes to buy local--or at least not from Mexico or other locations that require the produce to rack up the miles of travel before getting to me.

This summer, I've had my first vegetable gardening experience, and this past week, I had my first harvest experience.  We picked a few of our heirloom tomatoes to go on our BLT sandwiches we were having for dinner.  I've had a lot of tomatoes in my time, but I've never tasted any one as good as what I tasted on that sandwich.  It was the perfect balance of sweetness, and it was the perfect texture--not too mushy and not too firm.  This single experience has totally made me a believer.

Now, I can't wait to sample the cucumbers and peppers from the same garden.  I hope they blow my socks off just the same.  

Heat Wave

I know all anyone can talk about is the heat wave, but I couldn't help joining in the symphony of commentary.  I've lost track of when the heat actually started, but what I can say is that I think we're all due for a little break.  Mother Nature obviously disagrees, and I think She is a bit more powerful in opinion.

I am a total wimp when it comes to summer heat.  My body was much better built for colder-than-normal temperatures, so while some become hermits in wintertime, I become a hermit during these really hot times.  I'm like those Jesus bugs that skate their way across a water's surface, dashing from one air conditioned space to another.  And, most likely, between those spots, I'll find just enough time to re-declare that it's really hot.  I like to remind all of the obvious.

When I was a writing tutor in college, one of the annual flocks of students came as a requirement when they wrote their lab reports for their cricket experiments.  This weather makes me think of those experiments because, basically, what was demonstrated was how cricket activity slowed down as a decrease in temperature was administered.  I feel like one of those crickets, except my slowed behavior comes with increased temperatures.  I take Tucker out in the front yard for his regular bathroom outings, and we both take two to three times as long to climb the modest hill and retreat back into the cool house.

Because I always love to infuse even the least desirable situations with a little cheer, I will say that the heat does make for some pretty incredible dawn hour scenery.  Our first trip outdoors usually comes around 5:45am, and at that hour, the surrounding hills are giving back to the skies, releasing big puffs of fog.  As the fog and quiet linger, the birds and other wildlife seem grateful for the small break from the extreme temperatures.

 

Wellness

There's rarely a day that passes that I don't marvel at the body's ability to independently sustain life.  Moreover, I'm usually in awe of the fragility surrounding its ability to sustain life.  The delicate balance and complex number of processes and systems never ceases to amaze me.  Over the past several months, I've gone through a number of medical changes.  New prescriptions for this, exams for that, supplements for this and that.  In this mix, I've learned something I knew nothing about, and this new knowledge only serves to reinforce my conclusion that the body is an amazingly complex thing.

I have never had a great immune system...basically for as long as I can remember.  Someone could sneeze three houses up, and I'd catch what they had.  As I grew older, I started to try to remedy this through healthy eating, obsessive handwashing and lots of other stuff.  Based on how I have treated my body, in theory, I should be the last to catch anything.  However, the serial infections just continued.  Over the past month or so, I stopped feeling myself.  I lacked energy, I could barely complete a normal day's work without collapsing before reaching my couch (and I sit in a chair all day!).  My body's ability to regulate my temperature started to go really wacky...I wouldn't just have a passing chill, I would have to huddle under covers sometimes with a heating pad, and I wouldn't just get a little warm, I would start to sizzle and stay that way.  More than anything, though, I was having to sleep 3-4 extra hours a day just to have a normal day.  There aren't enough hours in a normal day, let alone one where you add several hours of sleep time--and this was in addition to a standard 7-8 hours overnight.

In any case, I have finally learned after testing that I have a serious Vitamin D deficiency.  I sort of scoffed at this initially because, seriously, Vitamin D is gonna make me feel all of that stuff above?  Sure enough, it can turn pretty serious if left untreated, and it definitely causes both immune deficiency as well as weak muscles and fatigue.  Thankfully, my health care professional was able to figure things out and will now help nurse me back to prime condition.  But, the important thing to note is that I made multiple trips to the doctor before this was able to be determined.  I was being treated for the various infections that were occurring, but until last week, no one stopped to investigate why my system tanked and continued to fail.  So, definitely be your own advocate and remember that if things don't seem right to you, they probably aren't.  Our body needs us to listen...I'm sure glad I did.

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.   

Humorous (Never-ending) Cause & Effect

Life is full of cause and effect.  However, the humor behind some cause and effect became very real to me the other night as I struggled with a simple household chore.

Several months ago, when I purchased my new puppy, I decided I needed to immediately go out and buy some area rugs for my living room.  My thinking stemmed from "new mom" alarm about the puppy constantly slip-sliding on the hardwood floor.  That alarm was further fed by the evil, nasty collection of information easily found on none other than the internet.  While one day perusing the information offerings on raising large breed dogs, I came across this web site that is purportedly maintained by a very knowledgeable and respectable "expert."  Without question, I classified her as such, and as I read on, I gathered that it is a really terrible thing for large breed dogs to do pretty much anything on a hardwood surface.  It seemed,  from reading, that even a full-body, inflatable suit would not protect them from permanent joint damage as a result of hardwood floors.  What didn't help me in processing this information was that my puppy had already started to mimic the ways of a child on a Slip n Slide with each entry into the living room space.  His legs would do just about anything but remain underneath of him, so within hours of finishing this very informative reading, I headed out to buy the first decent set of area rugs I could find.  Unfortunately, Wheeling does not offer very posh options in this area, so I hit Target for their best offerings.  I was actually very pleased with what I found there...until weeks after the purchase. 

In the next phase of this cause and effect scenario, the dog issue was pretty much solved.  He quickly learned to seek carpeted territory before coming to a stop on the floor, and his next conclusion was that if he was running too quickly to stop on the carpeted area, he would go with plan B, which was to cannonball onto his bed.  Problem solved?  Not exactly.

I am a lifelong lover of vacuuming.  One of the quickest ways to feel like your living space is clean is to vacuum.  Following this desire, I got out the Oreck not too long after laying the area rugs.  Since the area rugs are wool, my vacuum quickly became an offering plate for wool piling.  I was able to remove all of the wool fibers pretty easily, but not long after, the tumbleweed gatherings of wool carpet fibers made their first appearance.  At this point in time, I'm doing a full house collection of wool tumbleweed about every other day (if I can stand to wait that long!).  Even though I never did vacuum the rugs again with my Oreck, it collects all fibers in the rest of the house, so then when I try to vacuum the bedroom carpet, which is plush, all of the beautiful balls of wool fiber stay behind on the floor, which may look even worse than straight out dirt on the floor. 

And so, as I was doing this routine vacuuming in my bedroom over the weekend, I laughed to myself.  I followed my impulse to buy a dog.  That led me to researching best practices in caring for him.  That led me to this stupid web site, which led me to buy terrible wool rugs from Target.  And the purchase of rugs led me to vacuum their nappy surface, which left my vacuum infested with wool.  Because my vacuum is now infested with wool, I will probably have to buy a new vacuum so that the constant presence of wool piling on the plush carpet doesn't drive me completely insane.  What I'm wondering is what will come after that?  It seems impossible that the purchase of a new vacuum won't cause some unforeseeable result, but what could that possibly be?  All I can hope is that the outcome brings me a little laugh as the outcomes have to this point. 

Playing in the Dirt

I'm convinced that the desire to grow stuff in the earth is passed down through generations.  I had it coming from both sides of my family.  I'm sure this stretches back much further than I can recall, but I fondly recall the pride in my Pap Brown's eyes as he talked about his peach trees and flower and vegetable beds.  My dad also wields a green thumb.  Every summer, he nudges along beautifully full hanging baskets and a bustling tomato garden.  This year, it is my turn to enter the unforgiving waters of gardening obsession. 

Part of this transition, for me, has been moving into a single family house rather than apartment dwelling.  The other part is renting that home from someone who has given me free reign to do what I want, when I want, and however I want to do it.  Granted, it would be amazing to have just a little more space to live within, but the sprawling yard and freedom to plant and beautify is great!

We had limited ourselves to tomato plants and hanging baskets--the basics--because we lack important stuff like gardening tools to prepare ground for gardening.  However, last weekend, after I finished cutting grass, the amazingly gracious neighbor had her tiller out and offered not only the tiller but her tilling services to expand our possibilities!  Now, we have two plots which will house tomato plants. cucumber plants, pepper plants, basil and a small assortment of zinnia flowers!  Thank you, kind neighbor! 

Pictured above is our fledgling tomato plants and our yet-to-be-planted flower and other veggie/herb assortment.  I greatly anticipate tracking progress throughout the summer.  There's so much to love about planting--playing in the dirt, chatting about gardening with neighbors, playing in the dirt and tracking progress--that I can't imagine having had to wait any longer to get started.    Good, clean fun to promote good, clean eating.