A week in Hawaii island hopping and not knowing what I'm seeing because I'm on an foreign language tour gives perspective. Everything goes by so fast. There's no time to really see anything. Just enough to scan the scenery and go. 10 minutes here, 10 minutes there. Go, go, go.
That's how it is for the holidays too. Back in the U.S. at work people are calling in frantic on the mobiles trying to buy presents as they do other things. No time, no time, go, go, going so they don't really enjoy the season in any way. They're grinchy and grouchy and snapping at the people at work here.
Sometimes it's easier to take it out on the people on the phone. Sometimes we're punching bags while the people who they're really mad at (themselves, family, God, etc.) go unspoken to.
But sometimes, it's better not to spend 10 minutes here and 10 minutes there. Sometimes it's actually better to BE PRESENT. Sometimes, that's the best present of all. For family, for friends, and for the poor service people on the phones.
That's all I have to say today. That and Happy Holidays in order of appearance: Happy Eid al-Fitr, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Winter Solstice, Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy New Year!
22 December 2006
12 October 2006
Whatever...
My brother's getting married next week. And I don't have a present. Now, I am not one that has difficulty getting presents for weddings. There's usually a creative twist with something meaningful behind it with custom wrappings.
But with my own brother, I'm stumped. It's like a shopping block. How do you get a meaningful present that will be enough to impart how much your own brother means to you? Nothing can measure up to that. All gifts that come flying through my brain aren't good enough or just aren't right for him and his upcoming bride.
If I didn't care about my brother it wouldn't be so hard. But he's my only brother and I've spend most of my life and all of his life knowing him.
In the end, we are a materialistic society and truly everything he literally needs he already has. Families in Africa would be grateful for 1/100th of what most of us Americans have. A magazine subscription is truly a non-essential luxury. It's all about food, water, air, clothing, and shelter.
So, back to the question of what to get. A donation to a charity? A nondescript gift card? A plunger with money stuffed inside?
Whatever it is, whatever it ends up being, the day belongs to them and what my gift is doesn't really matter does it? Ever?
But with my own brother, I'm stumped. It's like a shopping block. How do you get a meaningful present that will be enough to impart how much your own brother means to you? Nothing can measure up to that. All gifts that come flying through my brain aren't good enough or just aren't right for him and his upcoming bride.
If I didn't care about my brother it wouldn't be so hard. But he's my only brother and I've spend most of my life and all of his life knowing him.
In the end, we are a materialistic society and truly everything he literally needs he already has. Families in Africa would be grateful for 1/100th of what most of us Americans have. A magazine subscription is truly a non-essential luxury. It's all about food, water, air, clothing, and shelter.
So, back to the question of what to get. A donation to a charity? A nondescript gift card? A plunger with money stuffed inside?
Whatever it is, whatever it ends up being, the day belongs to them and what my gift is doesn't really matter does it? Ever?
23 September 2006
Swarming Season
The door opens into darkness. I turn the corner and flip on a light. There's a towel lining the bathroom door. Wha?!? Drop the bags off my shoulders. Is it a leak? Is it too loud and this is a sound muffler? I slowly open the door and turn on the light.
AAAaaaaaeeeieeeesshhhooooootttt!
There are swarms of winged things all over the floor by the towel, lining the wall, on my floor, in my sink, in the shower! I flip off the light and shut the door. Ooofph!
Darn. I need to use the bathroom but I'm afraid to with all that--that---WHAT are they?!? Wwweeeeelllll..... as you can see by the photo, I did some research on the internet. (Isn't the internet handy?) And ....drum roll please....they're termites. Dry wood termites.
My apartment manager tells me it's normal and that it's swarming season. Especially for the termites with wings. I'm supposed to look around for a tiny hole and spray the wood with Windex and then put scotch tape over the hole and she'll have a maintenance guy put putty over it.
At work I ask, "Other than eating wood, can termites do any harm?"
The woman sitting next to me sarcastically says "You mean other than falling through your bathroom floor because they've eaten their way through? No."
Hmmmm.....falling through the floor. How would that feel? And would it the whole toilet go? Or would it happen when you're just standing there? And what would my neighbors downstairs think?
And yet, you have to give these termites credit. They knew just how to pick the right apartment complex. Eat a good meal for a few years and then every once in awhile they'll run into scotch tape and get a hit of the ole Windex.
We humans will live with it too. Because it takes too much energy to deal with it. In the end, if you think about it, whether you're a termite or a human the compromise is better than a tent.
AAAaaaaaeeeieeeesshhhooooootttt!
There are swarms of winged things all over the floor by the towel, lining the wall, on my floor, in my sink, in the shower! I flip off the light and shut the door. Ooofph!
Darn. I need to use the bathroom but I'm afraid to with all that--that---WHAT are they?!? Wwweeeeelllll..... as you can see by the photo, I did some research on the internet. (Isn't the internet handy?) And ....drum roll please....they're termites. Dry wood termites.
My apartment manager tells me it's normal and that it's swarming season. Especially for the termites with wings. I'm supposed to look around for a tiny hole and spray the wood with Windex and then put scotch tape over the hole and she'll have a maintenance guy put putty over it.
At work I ask, "Other than eating wood, can termites do any harm?"
The woman sitting next to me sarcastically says "You mean other than falling through your bathroom floor because they've eaten their way through? No."
Hmmmm.....falling through the floor. How would that feel? And would it the whole toilet go? Or would it happen when you're just standing there? And what would my neighbors downstairs think?
And yet, you have to give these termites credit. They knew just how to pick the right apartment complex. Eat a good meal for a few years and then every once in awhile they'll run into scotch tape and get a hit of the ole Windex.
We humans will live with it too. Because it takes too much energy to deal with it. In the end, if you think about it, whether you're a termite or a human the compromise is better than a tent.
09 September 2006
The Fall
This morning was a wake up call. It wasn't expected, it wasn't from anyone I knew, but it was profound and revealed itself in a nice way--like a soft blanket being pulled down toward your feet slowly.
Early this morning while stretching in the park with a friend an elderly, well dressed man shuffled across the grass and proceeded to tip over in slow motion.
The back of his hands were blue and mottled and they were extraordinarily soft. And as I grabbed those hands and held him steady we talked. It was then it dawned upon both of us that he needed more help than just getting up off the ground. My friend mouthed "Alzheimers" and we took him to a bench to assess the situation. It forced us to slow down.
And later that morning his eyes lit up and his face filled with joy as a young woman with red hair grabbed his hands and said "Dad!" That image is so clear. It replays in my mind throughout the day at moments where life issues that had been making me anxious and upset flit through my mind and then those things, those things that were so important are no longer issues.
It was truly a Blessing, because I remember...I remember all the things that do matter. How at the end of life the things we want aren't so much the things we want today.
I remember. As the gentleman forgets--and I'm sure he's already forgotten the both of us--I continue to remember and hope it's long lasting.
Early this morning while stretching in the park with a friend an elderly, well dressed man shuffled across the grass and proceeded to tip over in slow motion.
The back of his hands were blue and mottled and they were extraordinarily soft. And as I grabbed those hands and held him steady we talked. It was then it dawned upon both of us that he needed more help than just getting up off the ground. My friend mouthed "Alzheimers" and we took him to a bench to assess the situation. It forced us to slow down.
And later that morning his eyes lit up and his face filled with joy as a young woman with red hair grabbed his hands and said "Dad!" That image is so clear. It replays in my mind throughout the day at moments where life issues that had been making me anxious and upset flit through my mind and then those things, those things that were so important are no longer issues.
It was truly a Blessing, because I remember...I remember all the things that do matter. How at the end of life the things we want aren't so much the things we want today.
I remember. As the gentleman forgets--and I'm sure he's already forgotten the both of us--I continue to remember and hope it's long lasting.
06 May 2006
The Great Debate
Sometimes, at work, when things are slow we begin to discuss the heavy topics. Politics, Life, Death, Love.
This past week we talked about love. Break-ups and the idea that there is more than one love for everyone. Why do you break-up? Why do you get married? Why do you choose to stay together?
Amongst the heated debate of twenty to fifty somethings a voice of a woman who's been married for 40 years distinguishes itself. And as she begins to talk quietly to one person amidst the raised voices throughout the room, people begin to turn. To listen. To be still and quiet because what she has to say goes straight to the core.
People nowadays break up for the littlest things. The problem is that everyone is looking for the best in their partner. They always are seeing the good things. What you need to do is look for the worst. The absolute worst thing that drives you crazy. And then, if you can live with that worst thing without the need to change your partner in any way. If you can accept that worst thing, then, get married.
There is silence after that. Everyone in their own thoughts.
I've heard from friends who've been married and divorced that the first year is the hardest. And that if you go in expecting a fairy tale of what marriage is, you'll never survive.
You have to go in understanding it's a partnership and take the gleam off of what your ideals are for marriage. Let the other person be imperfect. Don't put marriage or your partner or your image of what you're role is supposed to be on a pedestal. In doing that, you help keep the sanctity of it. That's the irony.
And when I mention this to the woman who is celebrating her 40th year of marriage, she says no. The hard part is from years 8 to 10. The first part is the honeymoon period. You don't really get to know the other person until after 10 years. If you pass that point, then you can't imagine living without the other person.
Another friend of mine, a Christian who has been married, says that the marriage vows are not something you can fulfill without God. That they are humanly impossible to keep unless you put God in the middle.
All I know is that Love and Marriage seem to be complicated. And they aren't always intertwined. I've seen plenty of marriages without love. It's painful. I've seen plenty of people in love that are not yet married, chose not to marry, or cannot legally marry.
It's timeless. It's Joy filled. It's pain filled. It's what it is. Defined differently by each person. And defined differently for each relationship. It's...undefinable actually. Ironic, isn't it?
This past week we talked about love. Break-ups and the idea that there is more than one love for everyone. Why do you break-up? Why do you get married? Why do you choose to stay together?
Amongst the heated debate of twenty to fifty somethings a voice of a woman who's been married for 40 years distinguishes itself. And as she begins to talk quietly to one person amidst the raised voices throughout the room, people begin to turn. To listen. To be still and quiet because what she has to say goes straight to the core.
People nowadays break up for the littlest things. The problem is that everyone is looking for the best in their partner. They always are seeing the good things. What you need to do is look for the worst. The absolute worst thing that drives you crazy. And then, if you can live with that worst thing without the need to change your partner in any way. If you can accept that worst thing, then, get married.
There is silence after that. Everyone in their own thoughts.
I've heard from friends who've been married and divorced that the first year is the hardest. And that if you go in expecting a fairy tale of what marriage is, you'll never survive.
You have to go in understanding it's a partnership and take the gleam off of what your ideals are for marriage. Let the other person be imperfect. Don't put marriage or your partner or your image of what you're role is supposed to be on a pedestal. In doing that, you help keep the sanctity of it. That's the irony.
And when I mention this to the woman who is celebrating her 40th year of marriage, she says no. The hard part is from years 8 to 10. The first part is the honeymoon period. You don't really get to know the other person until after 10 years. If you pass that point, then you can't imagine living without the other person.
Another friend of mine, a Christian who has been married, says that the marriage vows are not something you can fulfill without God. That they are humanly impossible to keep unless you put God in the middle.
All I know is that Love and Marriage seem to be complicated. And they aren't always intertwined. I've seen plenty of marriages without love. It's painful. I've seen plenty of people in love that are not yet married, chose not to marry, or cannot legally marry.
It's timeless. It's Joy filled. It's pain filled. It's what it is. Defined differently by each person. And defined differently for each relationship. It's...undefinable actually. Ironic, isn't it?
15 April 2006
The Frozen Chosen
This morning I attended the funeral of a man named Frank whom I knew as an extremely generous host to the youth group I used to lead.
What I didn't know was that he had served in the Korean War with 10 to 15 thousand people in his Legion. Yes. 10,000 to 15,000. Of those, he came back with 12 other survivors. 13 out of 10,000 to 15,000. The survivors of the area called the Frozen Chosen (named for the freezing cold conditions along the Chosin Reservoir) were called the Chosin Few. That's what we were told at the memorial. Amazing.
And then I think of the history that is lost by his passing. Another friend of mine has been recording the stories of Veterans. An archival project of love as his father served and he wants to keep the stories alive for the next generation. He tells me that he sits every Saturday in a section of the library hoping that a vet will come in. He records them, gives them a copy for their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren in hopes that their stories will continue to be passed on and preserved.
And at times like these, I look around at the people around me and wonder what pieces of history and what stories are hidden in their past, in their present, and in their futures. Remarkable. It is truly remarkable what we allow to pass by us. Then I wonder about Frank. What did he learn from being amongst a very few remaining? How did it change his life? And why, did it take a funeral and his death to appreciate the fullness of what he experienced during his life?
A moment of reflection. To the Chosin Few. To Frank. And to everyone at the Frozen Chosen. Sometimes History doesn't always belong in the past.
What I didn't know was that he had served in the Korean War with 10 to 15 thousand people in his Legion. Yes. 10,000 to 15,000. Of those, he came back with 12 other survivors. 13 out of 10,000 to 15,000. The survivors of the area called the Frozen Chosen (named for the freezing cold conditions along the Chosin Reservoir) were called the Chosin Few. That's what we were told at the memorial. Amazing.
And then I think of the history that is lost by his passing. Another friend of mine has been recording the stories of Veterans. An archival project of love as his father served and he wants to keep the stories alive for the next generation. He tells me that he sits every Saturday in a section of the library hoping that a vet will come in. He records them, gives them a copy for their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren in hopes that their stories will continue to be passed on and preserved.
And at times like these, I look around at the people around me and wonder what pieces of history and what stories are hidden in their past, in their present, and in their futures. Remarkable. It is truly remarkable what we allow to pass by us. Then I wonder about Frank. What did he learn from being amongst a very few remaining? How did it change his life? And why, did it take a funeral and his death to appreciate the fullness of what he experienced during his life?
A moment of reflection. To the Chosin Few. To Frank. And to everyone at the Frozen Chosen. Sometimes History doesn't always belong in the past.
08 April 2006
Blackout
After sitting in the dark for an hour and a half at work while the powers that be scrambled to get the power back on for the block, you get to thinking. Computers and phones have taken over our lives. Electricity is pretty handy. But hundreds of homeless don't live with it and neither do others in other countries.
And then you think about what really matters. Who and what really matters. What is man made? What is real?
And you think, that sometimes as the lights shine on, we are all really sitting in the dark.
And then you think about what really matters. Who and what really matters. What is man made? What is real?
And you think, that sometimes as the lights shine on, we are all really sitting in the dark.
09 February 2006
To ipod, or not to ipod, that is the question.
I grew up learning about computers beginning in the 2nd grade. A brand spankin' new TRS-80. (Okay, I just dated myself.) 12K, 16K, and 18K.
There were no disks back then. Everything was saved on an audio cassette and Atari's (the equivalent to the PS2/X-Box of today) were just around the corner.
So, I'm actually pretty proud of myself for keeping up relatively well with the mad dash that computing has become. My PowerMac G5 is just about to be old news with the new Pentium chips that are being added to Macs. But it's still pretty powerful.
Despite all of this, a part of me still loves the hard stuff. I prefer holding a CD or audio cassette tape in my hand to the idea of having a virtual world of everything being held on a microchip. If I stomp on a cd or a tape accidentally...(yah, for those who don't know me...it can happen--very easily) then I only lose 1 set of songs. If I accidentally stomp on an iPod..my library goes down the tubes. Yes, yes, I know it's backed up on the computer and you can re-download it. But something in me struggles against that very idea.
On the other hand, I'm learning that an iPod would be very handy for helping memorizing for my work. It's able to record to one ear vs. the other; something my tape player can't do.
I hear and see great rants of how wonderful they are from co-workers and friends. Some who have the video version and watch Battlestar Galactica on break. And my inner old person tugging at the security of having the hard stuff in hand.
For now, the question is moot until I have the mooolah to pay for one. But the debate rages on.
There were no disks back then. Everything was saved on an audio cassette and Atari's (the equivalent to the PS2/X-Box of today) were just around the corner.
So, I'm actually pretty proud of myself for keeping up relatively well with the mad dash that computing has become. My PowerMac G5 is just about to be old news with the new Pentium chips that are being added to Macs. But it's still pretty powerful.
Despite all of this, a part of me still loves the hard stuff. I prefer holding a CD or audio cassette tape in my hand to the idea of having a virtual world of everything being held on a microchip. If I stomp on a cd or a tape accidentally...(yah, for those who don't know me...it can happen--very easily) then I only lose 1 set of songs. If I accidentally stomp on an iPod..my library goes down the tubes. Yes, yes, I know it's backed up on the computer and you can re-download it. But something in me struggles against that very idea.
On the other hand, I'm learning that an iPod would be very handy for helping memorizing for my work. It's able to record to one ear vs. the other; something my tape player can't do.
I hear and see great rants of how wonderful they are from co-workers and friends. Some who have the video version and watch Battlestar Galactica on break. And my inner old person tugging at the security of having the hard stuff in hand.
For now, the question is moot until I have the mooolah to pay for one. But the debate rages on.
09 January 2006
From the other Camp
"Are you bringing a gun?"; "What's a McLeod?"
Despite fearful warnings from co-workers and friends, I went camping on my own this weekend at Sequoia National Park. I've done this before and it never seemed weird to me. But, when mentioned to a co-worker who then mentioned it to others it became a snowballing piece of conversation.
I didn't bring my camera camping because I wanted to focus on being present and memory. But my PDA does have one so you'll see a photo taken at the end of my trip right before I left. Yes, that's snow. It was gloriously sunny and reflecting off the white snow at that altitude. The drive down descended into fog and clouds and an overcast day.
This trip brought up the thing I love best about camping in the wilderness and the thing I hate the most as well.
At 1:55AM I heard yelling from nearby campers. I thought it was 5AM and early morning risers getting ready for the day of hiking but when I opened my eyes it was black dark. A dark that squeezes out all the light and seeps into you.
Immediately, I zipped open the screen of my tent and saw the most brilliant and gorgeous stars against the darkest sky ever. I've seen my share of beautiful night skies. Spending time in the UP of Michigan you see the entire span of Milky Way without lights. I've seen the sky from a boat. And even in the desert. But there was something about this sky...the stars looked so close and I could see all of the little pinpoints separately. It was just gorgeous! Of course I got out and walked around looking up and around the trees bumping into things with my glasses on, but it was worth it.
After 3 hours of hiking I come across a sunny part of the trail with long yellow grasses along side the mountain. The trail is narrow and it forces you to lean into the mountain so you don't fall off the cliff face. As I walk I look down to see black dots of various sizes on my pant leg. I look at the other one. There's some there too. Big and little. TICKS!!! I HATE TICKS!!! Wood ticks and the small pinhead ticks that give you Lyme disease. AAAARRRGGGHH!!! As I flick them off, determined that they will not stop me from seeing the waterfall at the end of the trail, I realize that with every sunny patch they will come flying off the grass and it practically ruins my hike. I get to a rocky overlook where you can see the waterfall. There is a small last leg left, but I turn around seeing only grass and ticks below. 3 hours back through more ticks and I walk downhill quickly (and run through the grasses) almost all the way. My knees are killing me, and I'm praying, no pleading with God under my breath to please keep the ticks away as well as any kind of bites or diseases. And, hoping I don't fall off the cliff.
I've survived. And if any ticks have, they're sitting on the floor of my car in the bag of clothes from that hike—waiting to be washed in scalding hot water separate from my other laundry.
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