#156 - I Came, I Saw, I Camped

Today was St. Patrick’s Day, ostensibly commemorating the saint who drove the snakes out of Ireland. In actuality, though, I think it is simply an excuse to add green food coloring to beer and get drunk. This weekend, however, we experienced a green of a different kind, the green that one begins to find outdoors as spring nears.

Over the weekend, we made the season’s  first outing with our fifth-wheel trailer. The promise of nice weather this past weekend (mostly delivered upon) made us decide relatively spur of the moment to hitch up the rig and motor about 90-minutes west to Farewell Bend State Park in Eastern Oregon.

Farewell Bend sits along the Oregon side of the Snake River and was the last river stop along the Oregon Trail. It’s a pleasant park that can get hot in summer and is often windy, making it less than ideal for tenters. During the winter off-season (through March), most of the sites are closed off leaving a handful of available spots all lined up like a mini RV park.

For our purposes, though, Farewell Bend was a perfect destination on two days’ notice. We had a chance to get the trailer out for the first time in more than five months and make sure some of the important components (refrigerator, oven, microwave, furnace) were in operational form. Because of the nice weather, we got to spend much of Saturday outdoors relaxing instead of glued to this screen or that or dealing with household chores or home project #47.

We also experienced yet again a phenomenon I marvel at every time I encounter it. Many of the RVers we’ve met have tended to be outgoing, friendly people ready to make strangers welcome at the drop of a hat. They certainly have done so on several occasions.

I do not include the so-called “weekend warriors” with broods of young children still at home in this category of RVer. These people often strike me as trying to cram seven days of togetherness and family activities into a weekend and often appear anything but relaxed. So I guess I can’t really blame them if they aren’t that friendly or outgoing when a stranger passes.

However, I have encountered such friendliness often enough to know it is a much more common occurrence in the RV community than it seems to be in the general population at large. We first experienced it not long after we bought our first RV, a 10-foot Jayco tent trailer. A private message sent to someone on an RV discussion forum led to us being invited into their full-time home on wheels and a discussion of several hours about full-time living in a motorhome.

This past weekend, my wife mentioned to the owner of one of the motorhomes near our trailer that the brand they owned was one we were considering a few years down the road. Next thing we knew, we were being invited to tour their wheeled home away from home and subsequently invited to join them around the campfire, That led to several hours of enjoyable conversation about favorite campgrounds, health, food, retirement, even skydiving.

They are the kinds of conversations that no longer take place in many neighborhoods. It’s as if we have taken the idea that our home is our castle to heart and created an imaginary moat around it to keep the outside world at bay. Neighborhood and residential developments have become so spread out that it becomes somewhat daunting and intimidating to meet neighbors, especially if you tend to be somewhat introverted, as I am.

Because an RV of any kind is much smaller than a traditional home, there is a greater tendency to spend at least part of each day outside. Therefore, the likelihood of interaction with other people is also much greater. The couple we spent several enjoyable hours with this weekend are people we likely would never have encountered if it weren’t for our common ground of RVing. If we lived in the same neighborhood, our paths might never cross.

This social aspect is one of the great things about the RV life. Equally great, though, is the possibility of obtaining complete solitude if desired. Especially in the western half of the United States, there are numerous places where one can get away from just about everything and everyone. That ability to be around people when desired and get away from people when needed is, to me, one of the greatest attributes of the RV lifestyle. It allows one to maintain a balance between the social and private self and to establish or restore a harmony between the human self and the natural world. I’m just not sure it gets any better than that.

#155 - Generalissimo Francisco Franco is Still Dead

A story on the BBC News web site reports that a group of devotees in India have frozen the body of their guru after his death from a heart attack. According to them, he did not die but moved into a state of Samadhi, the highest form of meditation. So they froze his body and will “wait and watch” confident that “he will come back,” apparently because the guru said he would.

I guess my question in this case would be – if the guru wasn’t actually dead, as his followers believe, when his body was put on ice, won’t the freezer finish the job? Not being much good at meditation myself, I also have to wonder whether such cold temperatures might disrupt the guru’s state of Samadhi and bring him back to some other state of consciousness. Namely, death. Hopefully they packed a good cold weather parka in with the guru.

Ashutosh Maharaj, leader of the Divya Jyoti Jagrati Sansthan (Divine Light Awakening Mission), has been in cold storage now for some six weeks. Reading the BBC story, I was reminded of the old running joke on Saturday Night Live’s Weekend Update when Chevy Chase would announce as his top story, “Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead” or the occasional variation "Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still valiantly holding on in his fight to remain dead."

The Divine Light guru reportedly led 30 million followers around the world. No word as to how many of them were consulted or agreed with the decision to serve up their spiritual leader “on the rocks.” I also have to wonder whether the divine light remains on when the freezer lid is closed.

At some level, I suppose this story also points up the need most of us have to believe in or hold onto something larger than life, bigger than ourselves. Me, I believe in a divine or higher power, but I don’t believe any faith or religion has a monopoly or even a clear understanding of that divine power or the higher truth it represents.

I certainly don’t think guru Ashutosh Maharaj is or was that divine power. To an outsider, his followers seem to have elevated him close to that level. Thinking more about this story, I am led to wonder whether the same sort of elevation might have happened in the case of Jesus. Perhaps he too began as a simple holy man and was elevated to divine status after his crucifixion by his followers, desperate to have something larger than life to hang their beliefs on.

I know Christians would say no and point to the Bible as evidence. I, on the other hand, have to wonder why so many accept the Bible and not some other holy text, such as the Upanishads or the Koran (or even The Book of Mormon). All were written or at least transcribed by men. Is it really inconceivable that, because of the politics or prejudices of the time, those authors/transcribers might have allowed their own hopes, biases, and opinions to color and influence what was actually set down upon the page? And which Bible? The Catholic version, with its Apocrypha? The King James? The New King James? The New International Version? (Was there an old International Version?) It’s all so confusing.

But back to guru Ashutosh Maharaj, he of the Divine Light. His spokesman (apparently, public relations is important, even after death – excuse me Samadhi) said the guru’s body did not decompose before being put into the freezer, even after remaining out for a week. That qualified as a “spiritual experience,” according to Swami Vishalanand. Actually, though, for those of faith, death itself would be considered a “spiritual experience.”

I don’t really begrudge the guru’s followers their belief that their leader will return. Perhaps that will illustrate the “awakening” aspect of the name of their sect. Until that happens, “Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead.”

#154 - Thinking About Making My Escape

Here where I live, the weather experts (does that mean they used to be perts and gave it up?) are forecasting temperatures in the 60s this weekend. That has me thinking about escaping.

By escaping, I don’t necessarily mean running away from it all, although that has a certain appeal. Actually, I’m thinking about getting out of town for a weekend or even longer. We are lucky in that we have the home on wheels to be able to get away from civilization – or at least reduce our exposure to it – whenever our schedules permit.

The promise of warmer weather has me hoping we can make more use of our fifth-wheel trailer than we did last year. Right now, I think bookmakers in Vegas are laying odds of four to one against based on the fact that I have yet to complete my first year in my current job. That puts available vacation time at a bit of a premium.

Even though my wife occasionally have disputes over how to do this or take care of that when we are out with the trailer, those outings help me stay sane. I think I feel more natural, more myself when we are in a campground somewhere, even if all we do is sit outside and read or watch the sun go down. Whatever burdens I imagine I have seem to lighten, and there is an increased sense of peace and calm I feel.

I’ve written about this feeling before. I find it reassuring to know I still feel the same, especially as my ultimate escape plan (i.e., retirement) involves taking the trailer (or motorhome, if we have one by then) out for a weekend and never coming home. Actually, the plan is to trade a stationary home (referred to by RVers as “sticks & bricks”) for one on wheels.

Such a move will require some hard decisions about what to keep (very little) and what to dispose of (nearly everything) as well as explaining the decision to others who might question our sanity. Somehow, though, that seems part of the fun at this point, even though I know when the time comes it will be anything but fun.

The final decisions in that regard are still several years away. In the meantime, I look at prospective homes on wheels and dream (and perhaps drool a little if the truth be told). I read of the adventures of others (sometimes with a slight tang of envy). And I look forward to the day when it is my turn to make the leap and live out my grand adventure. Until then, I settle for mini escapes, weekend excursions that help revitalize me and help to (barely, some might say) keep me sane. How about you? Here’s to making our escape!

#153 - Balancing Between Today and Tomorrow

“Sha-la-la-la-la-la live for today / And don’t worry ‘bout tomorrow, hey”

– The Grass Roots

Finding the balancing point between what is and what might be is always challenging. How does one know whether he or she is making the right choice? Hindsight may be 20/20, but foresight and forward vision can be a bit blurry at best and myopic at worst.

One of the blogs I regularly read is currently in the middle of a series of posts that have a bit of a survivalist bent to them, looking ahead to dwindling oil supplies, hyperinflation, and a collapsing economy. Definitely not light bedtime reading. But is the author right? Are we headed for financial Armageddon?

I don’t know the answer to that question, and he admits he doesn’t, either. That’s the point. Not even the wisest of us has a direct line to the future, so none of us really knows what lies ahead. While the song by The Grass Roots may, on one level, seem a bit irresponsible, there is a lot to be said for living for today.

Today is all we can see and all we have any semblance of control over. That does not mean doing nothing to plan for the future. Nor does it mean not having any hopes or dreams to look forward to or live for. What it does mean is doing the best you can today to plan for the future without sacrificing the present and worrying about tomorrow if and when it comes. 

Looking at the world around me, I see that throwing money at the problems we face, as America is sometimes accused of doing, has so far not solved the problem. Nor has cutting spending to the bone, as has occurred in some European countries, done the job. As in all things, balance and moderation seem to be the key.

I’ve been accused often in my life of being a pessimist, but I am something of an optimist at heart. While I believe we face a variety of challenges in the years ahead, I also believe we can and will address them, whether it be through evolution, technology, divine intervention, or some combination of all three. Forty years ago, during the last worldwide oil shortage, many were forecasting gloom and doom. Since then, we have made great strides in alternative energy sources such as solar and wind, and I suspect further advances lie on the horizon.

I sometimes think about what the future holds for my autistic son. I realize that I will not be around for most of his adult life and will not be there to guide him through whatever lies ahead. Plans are in place to try to prepare for his future, but as what anything forward-looking, those plans are at best an educated guess as to what he’ll face and what he’ll need. At the same time, his parents hope and plan as parents for our own future.

I suppose the moral in all of this is to do your best to plan and prepare for the future you hope to see while also doing your best to live in the now (and not, as Jethro Tull once sang, “keep living in the past”). Metaphysically speaking, I guess I need to work on my sense of balance. Sha-la-la-la.

#152 - Where Did My Hour Go?

“It’s just another manic Monday.” – The Bangles

At this moment, I truly do wish it were Sunday (as the song continues). Not because Monday marks the start of another work week, although there is also that. No, it’s much worse than that. It is nothing less than what I am sure must be an insidious plot to make all of us automatons for several days while who knows what takes place. The plot of which I speak is Daylight Savings Time.

This weekend marked the beginning of Daylight Savings Time, that artificial extension of daylight hours originally intended to help conserve energy. Benjamin Franklin is said to have first proposed such a system so as to make more economical use of candles. The energy saving aspect is what caused Daylight Savings to be used during World War I and to be more permanently implemented during World War II. In the 1970s, the time frame for Daylight Savings Time was extended for additional energy savings during the oil embargo.

The period was later extended and codified at eight months in length, again presumably for energy savings. I’m sure it is mere coincidence that the eight month period of Daylight Savings just happens to coincide with prime growing and tourism seasons as opposed to those times of the year when we might truly benefit from an extra hour of daylight, the winter. I fully expect in the next few years that Daylight Savings Time will be extended once more, allowing it to run through Black Friday so that the mob of shoppers seeking out Christmas bargains can trample each other with an extra hour of daylight to run amok in. That’s only a few weeks past the current end date for Daylight Savings Time, so it would not require much of a change and could be made again under the guise of “saving energy.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Daylight Savings Time as much as the next person. During the summer and early autumn, both prime camping periods, I can enjoy extra hours of daylight out in the RV. I like having plenty of daylight whenever I can take the RV out of town for the weekend.

What I don’t like as much is that first day of Daylight Savings Time, when we lose an hour due to the adjustment of the clocks. Yes, it’s in the middle of the night, when we are presumably sleeping. And yes, we get that hour back sometime in the fall. However, that first day after “springing forward,” I don’t like doing anything close to “springing.” Instead, I feel like a walking billboard for Night of the Living Dead, as my body knows there is something amiss, even if it can’t quite put its finger on it.

At the start of Daylight Savings Time, I feel sluggish and continue to feel that way for several days, until my body finally adjusts to the change. For those first few days, Daylight Savings Time (DST) becomes more like Sleep Deprivation Time (SDT). While later I will enjoy and appreciate the additional hour of daylight, right now, I just want my hour back so I can catch up on that lost sleep.

#151 - The Importance of Being a Dreamer

"I know that everybody has a dream / Everybody has a dream
Everybody has a dream / And this is my dream, my own"

- Billy Joel "Everybody Has a Dream"

I guess I've had a number of dreams over the years. Growing up, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. Then, when I learned how long that would take, I switched to dreaming of architecture (still an interest), then law. Along with the dream of becoming a lawyer was the thought I might someday go into politics - until I realized I wouldn't even win an election in my own family.

These are the dreams of what I would call real life - what I wanted to be when I grew up. There were also the dreams I knew to be complete fantasy - dreams of being a successful baseball player, even though I had no talent; dreams of being a singer/songwriter (I do like to sing and do still write lyrics, so maybe I haven't completely let go of that one); dreams of owning a number of television and radio stations, a pale imitation of which played out in my ten years working in radio and television; even dreams of being an acclaimed novelist (haven't quite let go of that dream yet). Most of these were part of my survival mechanism, I suppose, a way to cope with and get through all of the crap I felt to be going on around me.

Delusional? Perhaps. But I have come to realize that dreams are important to us in all stages of life. They are, really, the thing that keeps up going and makes it possible for us to get out of bed day after day. Even if they might never come true, there is always a chance they might, and that makes it possible for people to go on. They certainly made it possible for me to go on.

An oft-paraphrased quote from Karl Marx states that religion is the opiate of the masses. In some ways, I suspect our dreams are the opiate. They are what keeps us going when times are hard. They give us something to look forward to, to get out of bed for. It has been said that when we stop dreaming, we die.

So even at my later stage of life, I continue to dream. For the most part, my dreams have changed with age. I no longer dream of being this or of having that career. Instead, I dream of going places, seeing things. My dream now is of retiring and living full-time in a motorhome, traveling to see places I've never seen and people I haven't seen in a long time.

Right now, it looks as if that dream could well come true, and that helps keep me going. Plus, I still have dreams of writing that novel. If I can just find the discipline to sit down and do it. What dreams do you hold on to?

#150 - Degrees of Loss

We just got word today that the priest who performed our wedding ceremony died recently after a long illness. I don't know his age, but I'm sure Fr. David was several years younger than us. Today, I also learned that a couple we knew that had married a few months before us had divorced after 20 years of marriage.

Teresa and I were the first couple married by Father David, a wedding Mass he performed for us in September, 1993, not long after his ordination as a Catholic priest. Thinking back now, there are lots of little things that stand out from that day.

I remember what a nice (and warm) September day it was with temperatures probably in the 80s and plenty of blue sky. I remember being glad I was able to scrape together the money to fly my mother and grandmother in for the wedding. I also remember trying to squeeze us all into my little Hyundai Excel.

I remember that Teresa and I decided that, while we wanted the traditional church wedding, we did not want the thousands of dollars in costs or debts that so many seemed to be incurring in order to live that dream. In order to make our dream happen, Teresa bought the fabric for her wedding dress, found the pattern, and paid someone $150 (as I recall) to make it. You'd have been hard-pressed to realize the dress did not cost five or ten times that much.

The rehearsal dinner was another area where we were able to have fun and save money. We booked a local barbecue place just outside of town. Everyone ate off of foam green plastic plates with paper napkins and, I think, plastic utensils, and no one said a word in complaint. It was fun, it was tasty (and traditional, in a Southern sort of way), and it was affordable.

Since we had friends with military shopping privileges, we were able to save a bit on the beer and champagne as well. However, to this day it still pains us to recall the fact that much of the beer ended up being dumped out. I think if we had known that was going to happen we would have stayed at the wedding reception longer and had more to drink. We did, however, end up with five or six cases of cheap champagne that took us years to drink.

I remember us buying most of the members of our wedding party Three Stooges-related gifts. We played Asleep at the Wheel's "Curly Shuffle" during the little get together we held to distribute the gifts. I also remember the fact that my best man, a non-Catholic, had to "suffer" through a full Mass, with all of the kneeling and standing that entailed. It was sort of my revenge for driving six and a half hours to be a groomsman in his ten-minute wedding ceremony earlier in the year.
 

The happy couple with Fr. David

Teresa and I wrote our own music for the ceremony so as to make it even more ours. I still remember Fr. David being a bit nervous since it was his first wedding (as well as ours) and launching into The Lord's Prayer, not remembering Teresa and I had written a musical version for the ceremony.

Ours was definitely a DIY wedding. (We did, however, hire someone to make a cake and provide finger food for the wedding reception.) We even put together the wedding reception music tape. Both of us having slightly twisted senses of humor, so it seemed only fitting that the first song at the reception be Billy Idol's "White Wedding." He was right. It was a "nice day for a white wedding."

We lost touch over the years with Fr. David, as we have with many of the people who blessed us with their presence that September day. Some, like my mother and grandmother and Teresa's father, have died. Others have moved to various parts of the country and out of our lives.

Although I don't have an actual count, I'm sure Fr. David performed many more wedding ceremonies and Masses after ours, no doubt becoming more confident and self-assured with each one. Teresa and I, though, will always be honored to have been the first.

We've lost Fr. David, but we retain the memories of that special day. Godspeed, Fr. David. May you find eternal rest.

#149 - Where's the Fire?

“I feel the need. The need for speed.” – Top Gun

There must be quite a few fans of the movie “Top Gun” here where I live, judging from the way some of them drive.

I was heading into work this morning when a company van from a local pastry shop came barreling out of their parking lot and had almost reached the speed limit by the time they got onto the actual road. The van proceeded to pick up speed from there. I didn’t hear the air raid sirens or anything, but there must have been a four-alarm donut shortage somewhere. Either that, or the driver had already consumed a couple of days’ worth of caffeine and sugar.

On the same drive this morning, while driving a couple of miles per hour over the speed limit myself, I was passed by a truck going close to ten miles an hour too fast – in order to pass me before being forced to turn right. This even though there was plenty of room to merge behind me. I am happy to report (in a told you so sort of way) that, because of other slower traffic ahead, said driver never got more than three or four car lengths ahead of me. Not that I am vengeful or vindictive or anything.

What I don’t really understand is the day-to-day rush to get somewhere, usually to work, as if that extra minute (or even less) will actually make a difference. I get that there are emergencies that sometimes necessitate the need for speed, but does clocking in for work at 7:29 a.m. as opposed to 7:30 or even 7:31 really matter. Are there sales taking place with tiny five-minute windows of opportunity that justify or excuse the lack of courtesy or possible endangerment of others?

I’ve also seen people several cars behind me in my lane on a city street pull out into another lane that is about to become a dedicated left-turn lane, pass several cars, then cut back into my lane (sometimes blocking the left-turn lane while waiting for an opportunity to force their way back over). It’s as if their time or their destination is more important or more worthy than mine or the other drivers they’ve passed. News flash: in most cases, it isn’t.

Consideration of others seems to have disappeared, right along with rational political discourse and compromise. It all seems to correspond with the advent of the 24-hour news cycle and the always-connected world in which we live. Some people here where I live blame it on the California drivers who have moved here. I suspect the answer is not quite that simple. 

In our consumer-driven culture, we are under constant pressure to produce and consume. I suspect some of that has also leached into our daily activities. Many people seem to always feel the need to be going or doing (or going and doing), and they have scheduled their entire family’s lives accordingly.

Not being an urban planner, a psychologist, or even a law enforcement officer, I don’t have the answer. Nor do I know the solution. I do have a few suggestions, though, for those of you always hurrying to and fro. First, stop and smell the coffee before you drink it. Those extra few moments don’t matter much in the long run, but they might help you begin your day on a more relaxed footing.

Second, look at all of those planned activities on your calendar. How important are they in the greater scheme of things? Is your schedule so full it allows no space for the unexpected or for doing something spontaneous? If so, you have way too much on your plate and way too little time on your hands.

Finally, might I suggest you try approaching each day’s drive to work or to run errands as if it will be your last? Because the way you drive, it may well be.

#148 - Write Your Own Song

"You can write your own words / You can sing your own song
And it doesn't really matter if you're out of tune / Or if no one sings along"
- John Wesley Harding "Sing Your Own Song"

Next to Elvis Costello, John Wesley Harding is, perhaps, my favorite songwriter of the last twenty-plus years. Plus, he's written three novels. In other words, he's done the things I always told myself I wanted to do.

A part of me has always been into writing. I won't call it a passion, as there has always been some question about whether I'm truly passionate about anything. However, I have enjoyed writing for quite some time, even making a living at it during my years as a reporter and later as a news producer.

In high school, I worked on the school newspaper, writing editorials about book burning, gas rationing (it was the 70s, the time of the oil embargo), and the like. I latched onto writing as a way to be noticed, I suppose, something that didn't happen from being in marching band, and I wasn't coordinated enough or strong enough or fast enough for sports.

Writing also became my way of coping with the world around me outside my home, as well as the feelings and emotions inside me and my home. Because I have the discipline and dedication of a gnat (and at times the attention span to go with it), I never worked much on longer forms of writing, although I always told people I wanted to write a novel . . . one day.

Instead, I latched onto song lyrics as my outlet. It was almost like writing poetry, except I didn't have to be opaque or obscure or quite so metaphorical. Song lyrics were also good and inexpensive therapy. My lyrics, bad as they were at times, helped me to express and work through things I wasn't really comfortable sharing with others. As a result, most of the lyrics I've written have perhaps thankfully never been shared with others.

I began writing lyrics my senior year in high school, and I've never really stopped, although I have gone months at a time without writing a word. Forty years of thoughts, feelings, rhymes, and stories. Most of what I've written is utter drivel and not likely to be improved with age or revision, something I almost never do.

Yet, I keep writing. It keeps my mind and my imagination active. I've written enough words to probably fill two or three novels, although I don't think much of a narrative could be pieced together from them if all those words were combined. (An interesting experiment for perhaps another day.)

I'd like to think my lyric writing has improved with time, age, and possibly wisdom, but a writer of any genre is generally not the best judge of his or her own work. So, at the end of this post, I'll let you decide.

The song I quoted at the start of this post, "Sing Your Own Song," conveys the idea that we each of us should live our own lives, write our own songs, as it were, and not worry about what other people want, think, or say about it. It's the idea that each of us marches to the beat of a different drummer.

I've been marching to that different beat for most of my life. I'd like to think my drummer has gained a better sense of timing and rhythm over the years. I'd also like to think that drummer will one day help me beat out that novel I still hope to write. In the meantime, I'll keep writing my lyrics, even if "no one sings along." Here's the latest, based on no personal experience or person I know, yet it probably fits several people who have gone in and out of my life over the years.

Just One of Those Things

I see the crystal vision / Of places we once went
I know my indecision / Caused us to lose the scent
Of what we had
I know I should be sad
But I'm not even mad, it was just one of those things

I hear the distant echoes / Of songs we used to share
They seem to end in mid-note / Left hanging in the air
Reminders of
This thing we once called love
Not quite like hand in glove, it was just one of those things

We thought we knew where we were going
We hadn't a clue
Each day, the doubt kept growing
Inside both me and you

Around me, imitations / Of things we used to do
Are there reminding me of / The life I had with you
So long ago
Where did that feeling go?
I don't really know, it was just one of those things

We finally reached the point
We couldn't take any more
One of us had to leave
We both walked out the door

I know someday the memories / Will simply fade away
Well meaning friends no longer / Asking if I'm okay
Like something's wrong
We just did not belong
And when one day you were gone, it was just one of those things

No need for sad goodbyes, it was just one of those things

One day we'll look back on this as just one of those things

- All rights reserved, 2014 -

#147 - Decisions, Decisions

If you think about it, life is a series of decisions, followed by an occasional lull, followed by another series of decisions. Do I get out of bed? Do I sleep in an extra hour? Do I have oatmeal for breakfast? Do I wear plaid to work? (Hopefully the answer to that last question is a decisive NO.)

Those little day-to-day decisions are punctuated by bigger decisions that are often referred to as MAJOR LIFE EVENTS – moving, getting married, having children, changing jobs. As a result, the course of one’s life graphed out looks a bit like a sine wave or an EEG.

Recently, I was faced with a potential major life event. A company I had worked eight years for before being laid off last August called to ask me if I was interested in coming back to work for them. Seems they realized they had made a teensy miscalculation in the number of people they actually needed to adequately run the day-to-day operations of the company.

Deep down, I suppose some part of me felt vindicated that they had realized their “error” in letting me go. So I agreed to talk to them, not really expecting anything to come of the interview. To put it mildly, I generally suck at interviews unless I don’t feel I have anything to lose or don’t feel pressured to do well. One of those must have been the case because a few days later they called to offer me a position.

After a little back and forth negotiating (something else I’m not much good at), they agreed to pay me what I was asking. I prepared myself to return to what I felt would be a more stressful situation than my current job, even going so far as to fill out some preliminary paperwork and telling my current employer about the offer. Then I woke up and smelled the coffee, I guess.

A delay of a few days in getting some questions answered gave me time to think about the impending move. The more time I had to think, the more anxious I became about going back. On the other hand, could I really turn down what was a sizeable pay increase? I didn’t know, so I did what any married man would do – I asked my wife.

As I talked over the offer with my wife, she noticed that I started talking more and more like someone who had decided to stay and not change jobs. I wasn’t aware of it until she pointed it out, but my entire discussion with her essentially became me convincing myself not to accept the offer.

I realized that I was lucky enough not to need the extra money. My current position feels a lot less stressful than my former job. I know everyone’s name, and everyone seems to get along. Plus, they seem to like the job I do and sounded genuinely relieved and grateful that I had decided to stay. I think I was as well.

Would I make the same choice six months from now? Who knows? That’s a decision for another day that may never arrive, or perhaps it is part of one ongoing decision. That discussion, however, is a bit deep for this blog. Instead, I’ll just worry about whether to pour a glass of red or white wine when I get home tonight from work.

#146 - When Life Happens

For the most part, I guess you could say I lead a relatively low-key life. I’m lucky not to have a lot of drama in my life, and I try – sometimes successfully – not to let the little things get to me. However, like most people, I imagine, there are the little crises that come up from time to time. Such was the case this weekend.

First, the was my son’s crisis of not being able to play Minecraft on his computer. Apparently, this is not all that uncommon due to various upgrades people make to their copy of the game. The problem, though, comes when you try to find solutions. They seem to be as varied as the weather, and they are nearly as widespread on the internet as the number of web addresses in existence.

These solutions also seem to have nothing in common with one another. One “solution” will suggest deleting one file; another will suggest deleting a different file. The videos describing various problems and their solutions provide enough small screen viewing pleasure to fill a couple of days. Needless to say, my son’s issues have yet to be resolved, although I personally am leaning toward just getting rid of the game entirely. I suspect, however, I will not have the final say on that.

The other of life’s little challenges this weekend involved replacing a leaking kitchen faucet. It had developed a slow leak over time, but when the water started pooling on the countertop, we concluded a change was in order.

Deciding to replace the faucet was the easy part. Deciding what to replace it with was a bit more difficult. We went to Home Depot and found a faucet we liked, bought it based on the clerk’s assurance it would work with our PUR water filter, then got home to find it would not work, at least not with the adapter we had.

So we took the faucet back, got a refund, then started the search again only to find that all of the faucets we were willing to consider required the same kind of adapter, the one we no longer had. When all was said and done, we wound up repurchasing the faucet we had just returned, hoping we could get replacement aerator adapters from PUR without having to buy an all-new filter.

After that, it should have been a matter of simply returning home, disconnecting and removing the old faucet, and installing the new one. Perhaps it works that way on Leave It To Beaver or Father Knows Best. Of course, in the real world or at least in our home, things are not quite so simple.

Turns out the old faucet, in addition to leaking, had rusted at one of the bolts. As a result, the plastic nut holding that side in place would not turn. (Why do they use plastic anyway? If it is to prevent rust, they may need to rethink the design process.) All of my efforts only succeeded in deforming the nut to the point where it looked nothing like what it was.

Next, we tried cutting the nut to see if we could break it apart. No luck. So I got out the drill and drilled a bunch of holes through the plastic nut, always being careful not to drill through the sink, until the plastic was weakened enough to break apart and allowed us to remove the old faucet. When I came out from under the sink, I looked like I had either been out in a snow flurry or had a serious dandruff problem from all of the plastic bits in my hair and on my clothes. But I was determined to show that faucet who was boss.

In the end, a job that should perhaps have taken an hour including travel to and from the hardware store ended up taking in excess of three hours. Fortunately, aside from the lost chunk of my weekend and a sore neck from contorting underneath the sink, the job was accomplished with no real damage or injury. Another victory for the average homeowner.

Of course, my son’s Minecraft computer game issue remains unresolved. I wonder if the drill will help with that. Hmmm . . .

#145 - More Random Thoughts

I've been thinking a lot lately about writing, which means I haven't been doing much of it. Well, that's not quite true. I've been doing more song lyric writing of late, something that seems to come in starts and stops, much as it has for 40 years.

I think the writing has gotten better. After 40 years, it would have to improve, wouldn't you think? One thing it has done is gotten more introspective, I think. I've been writing of late about the things left undone, perhaps as a sort of purge as I begin to think about the things I hope to do as I begin to look forward to the next stage of life.

One of the things I hope to do in that next stage is travel. Deep down, I think I am a restless spirit. My wife and I both tell people we are nomads or gypsies and cite the fact that both of our fathers were truck drivers. I think I've always had an urge to roam. When I was younger, I saw moving as a way to break from my mistakes, to make a clean start, if you will.

In my previous life in television and radio, I moved seven times over a ten year period. I was not one for putting down roots. Now, after living ten years in the same city, I have an urge to move again, although perhaps not at quite the same pace.

There is one blog I read regularly that captures a good sense of the kind of life I am looking to lead. That blog, rvsue and her canine crew, captures the daily essence for me of life along the road less traveled (to borrow from the M. Scott Peck book of the same name). As Sue paints it in her word portraits, life is not always exciting, but it is always fresh and always real.

Sue's blog has, at last count, attracted in excess of one million visits. The figure is mind boggling to me, not least of all because this blog stands at roughly 0.02% of that figure. I'm not jealous of that success, but I am most certainly in awe of it.

Thinking about Sue's blog and mine got me to thinking about my rationale for numbering my blog posts. When I first decided to number my posts, I think I did so in order to see how far I had come, a means of measurement, I suppose. I've also come to see the numbering as a way of showing myself that I was writing something substantial, even if it wasn't always of great import.

Writing, although I see it as one of my talents, is not something I can easily sit down to do. The numbering became an easy way for me to measure production, I suppose, especially since I still can't make myself sit down to write that novel.

I am also coming to see the numbering of blog posts in a different light. The numbers are becoming to me something like stepping stones or mileposts along the way. Some travel blogs contain maps with numbers that illustrate where the author was at a given point of time. The numbers serve to allow the readers to visually follow along with the author on his or her journey.

I am coming to see my blog post numbers as serving a similar purpose. Subconsciously, perhaps, the numbers allow any readers to follow a map of my journey. I cannot post a visual map of my mind (it would be very messy, for one thing), so the numbers are as close as I can come.

One last number just came to mind. At my current rate of page views, I only need to write 59, 736 more posts to reach a million views. One down, 59,735 to go.

#144 - Thoughts on Success and/or the Lack Thereof

“Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention” – Frank Sinatra - My Way

Frank Sinatra (and by extension Paul Anka, the song’s author) was a lucky man. I imagine most of us have, at one time or another in our lives, done something we regretted or done something we would change if we could. Others of us probably have things we didn’t do and wish we had. I probably fall into the second category.

There are any number of things I wish I had done when I was younger or wish I had possessed the internal makeup and strength of personality to at least consider. Sometimes circumstances got in the way, but for the most part, it has been a weakness of character, a problem of me getting in my own way.

I am not, as the psychologists would likely attest, a Type-A personality. I have never been a go-getter or a take the bull by the horns kind of guy. If you use water as a metaphor, Type-A personalities would be akin to a waterfall or even a hydroelectric dam. I, on the other hand, would be more like a meandering stream, rolling along in no hurry to get anywhere.

In some ways, that approach to life has served me well. While I often get bored easily, I almost never get overly stressed about anything. So I don’t suffer from hypertension or ulcers or the like. Instead, I ride along a fairly even keel emotionally.

This does have its drawbacks. While an even emotional keel does keep me from becoming overly depressed (even when thinking about how much has turned out), it also keeps me from truly experiencing emotional highs. The argument could be made that in some ways I have missed out on life. There is a part of me that might agree with that assessment.

Not that I haven’t changed a little. It took a long time, but I am better able to appreciate the beauty of sunrise (when I can get up that early) or sunset. A few years ago, I would have simply seen it as another day. I wish I had developed such an appreciation earlier in life, but I don’t dwell on it.

The one area in which I do have regret has to do with writing. (There are some other regrets, but this is the primary one.) I’ve always enjoyed writing and always believed (erroneously, perhaps) I was good at it. Where I come up short is in the areas of discipline and determination. I don’t have the internal strength to make myself sit down and start writing.

Blog posts like this one and song lyrics, which I’ve written off and on for years, are different because they usually don’t take much time to complete. Even then, they aren’t something I can make myself sit down and do on a daily basis, even though I always have ideas running through my head.

All of this has me wondering how and why it is some people have the drive to attempt and succeed while others don’t. Where does that drive come from? How do parents instill that drive in their children? Can they do so or is there some genetic component we are not yet aware of? Why is it that success in school does not always equate with or lead to success in life? Then there is the more philosophical question of what actually constitutes success? I’m not sure I have an answer for that one.

I have reached a stage in life where my chances for advancement in the workplace (at least as an employee) rest somewhere between slim and none. As I draw ever nearer to retirement age, I shall hope to be more successful in the next stage of life.

#143 - Freedom, Escape or Something Inbetween

“I’ve got to ride, ride like the wind / To be free again”

Christopher Cross – Ride Like the Wind

Recently, a blogger I regularly read posted an entry that, among other things, touched on the idea of freedom and where each of us feels free. Many of the comments touched on much the same idea – most of them experienced such freedom when they were either in the midst of or in close proximity to nature.

It is an interesting question to ponder. In some sense, we are perhaps as free as we have ever been in humanity’s existence. At least in more developed nations, millions upon millions of people have the financial wherewithal to pursue hobbies and interests perhaps unthinkable one or two generations ago.

At the same time, we are perhaps as chained as we have ever been. We live in an increasingly urbanized and technology driven world, and those same millions are often chained electronically or financially to jobs and careers that demand much of their time, even when they are away from the office. In previous generations, most people were simply not able to take their work home with them, even if they wanted to. In the 21st century, many of us not only can take our work home with us, there is an unwritten expectation that we do so.

And so, we look for opportunities to escape for an hour, a day, a week. Many of us find that momentary escape through television, radio, video games, and the like. Others find their escape through more physical avenues, such as hiking, biking, working out in a gym, and so on. That’s escape, but is it freedom or simply the best we can hope for in our current circumstances? To me, it is escape and not freedom, but for now it will have to do.

I find my escape through my RV, a fifth-wheel trailer that I take out with my family every chance I get. Right now, it is an escape and not a feeling of freedom for me as I am unable to go whenever the urge strikes me as I – like most people – have to balance individual desire with familial and societal responsibility. I will say that I feel calmest and most relaxed (usually) when I have the trailer parked in some campground out of the city.

Part of what keeps me going, is the hope that one day soon I can take the RV out and not have to come back to a house or, as those who live full-time in an RV call it, sticks and bricks. It is, luckily, a somewhat realistic dream for me, unlike many, but it does require some things to fall into place or at least not depart too much from their current path. Among those are the continued somewhat relative stability of fuel prices, the continued availability of places to explore, and continued decent health.

It is certainly possible that unforeseen events will require an abandonment or adjustment in this dream of mobile freedom. If that happens, I’ll no doubt manage. Hopefully, I’ll also find a way to feel free.

#142 - When Explanations Fail

The world is a crazy place these days. Perhaps it has always been so, and we just weren’t aware of how crazy the world really was until we launched into the continuous 24-hour news cycle in which we now live.

Case in point: A Florida man is dead, another Florida man is in jail as a result of a shooting in a movie theater apparently caused by texting. As the story was reported, the dead man was shot after he refused to stop texting during the screening of a movie preview – not even the movie, mind you. The apparent fact that he was texting his three-year old daughter was not enough to keep the alleged gunman, a retired police officer, from pulling the trigger.

After reading the story on BBC News, several thoughts ran through my mind, most of them having nothing to do with gun control or the debate that is sure to start anew with some in the wake of the shooting.

Instead, my first set of questions is: Would this have played out differently, say, five or ten years ago? While texting has been around a while, it is only in the last several years that is has become widespread to the point where laws are now enacted in states banning texting while driving. Prior to the advent of texting, people might have been asked to lower their voices if talking during a film or a preview, but would they have been shot if they failed to comply?

My second set of questions: What in the world was a three-year old even doing with a cell phone, presumably how she was receiving the texts? Was it her cell phone – if so, why does a three-year old need, let alone have a cell phone? Was it the babysitter’s phone? If so, why was the father texting to that number?

My third set of questions: Have we become so cocooned in our technology that we no longer recognize or worse, no longer care when our actions negatively affect another person? Have we reached a point of being so hostile to authority that we ignore rules we don’t care for? (Presumably at some point before the movie previews began, the ubiquitous request to turn off cell phones went up on the screen.) Perhaps in this instance, the shooter and victim took their cues from the dysfunctional hostility that passes for government these days in Washington, DC.

My last set of questions hit a little closer to home for me: Who is going to tell the three-year old daughter, now without a father, what happened? How will she grow up? How will she cope without her father? Although the circumstances were different, my father went out of my life at age five, not so far removed from age three. I was not told then or later what actually happened. I only finally heard a story that made sense nearly 50 years later. In between, I had no explanation and had to guess.

I don't know what those closest to her will tell this little girl or when, but they should make sure they don’t wait forever. Whatever they tell her, it is going to hurt. But not knowing hurts a lot more.

#141 - Shock and Awe

I saw on the CNN website that the so-called “Tiger Mom” had come out with a new book. “Tiger Mom,” for those who don’t remember, is Amy Chua, the Yale Law School professor whose “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom” was seen as claiming that Chinese parents (and by extension their children) are the best and also as advocating a very strict style of parenting. The book at the time caused a huge debate over parenting and child-rearing.

Chua’s new book, “The Triple Package,” co-written with her Jewish husband alleges that certain groups are superior and that the rest are contributing to the cultural and economic decline in America. The merits or lack thereof surrounding Chua’s book are beyond this post as I have not read the book and likely will not do so anytime soon. However, the news that such a book had come out reminded me of the old tactics of saying something for its inherent shock value and also of saying something “to get a rise” out of someone.

Both are things most of us have done at one time or another over the course of our lives. Speaking for shock value is something many outgrow by the time they become adults. Others at least reduce their tendency to try and shock. Saying something “to get a rise” out of someone is usually only done on occasion and is even done to sometimes make a point.

Then there are those who never seem to outgrow this desire to shock and awe, as it were. Chua may or may not fall into this category; I will leave that conclusion to those who have read her books. If, however, she does fall into that group, I can’t imagine she would conclude that those with whom she would share such a classification are doing much to effect the cultural and/or economic advancement of America.

From where I sit, such a group would include Howard Stern and Rush Limbaugh. Both may have entertainment value for some people, but neither as far as I can see is doing much in the way of being uplifting. Stern is perhaps the original “shock jock” of radio. He certainly perfected and came to embody the term. Limbaugh could be argued to have taken the “shock jock” classification to the next level, going beyond the desire to shock simply for the sake of making people uncomfortable to trying to shock people in order to make them angry, either in support of or in opposition to whatever viewpoint he espouses.

I don’t listen to or care for either Howard Stern or Rush Limbaugh. I don’t find Stern funny or provocative, merely juvenile and offensive. I also don’t find Limbaugh thought-provoking or insightful, merely hateful and divisive. The former viewpoint comes from having lived long enough to be exposed to a variety of humor styles, from one-liners (Henny Youngman and Milton Berle) to racy and controversial (Redd Foxx and Richard Pryor) to topical and insightful (George Carlin). I don’t find Stern to be good or funny in any of these.

My views regarding Rush Limbaugh come from my own political leanings, which I describe as being slightly left of center. However, I don’t think any but the most myopic of people can consider Rush as anything but divisive. The clips I’ve heard in the past seem to me in no way intended to unite or bring people together in this country. Talk radio hosts from both sides of the political spectrum, the new “shock jocks,” could be considered equally to blame for this division in America if not for the fact that the so-called “liberal media” in America features far more such programming from the right than from the left.

Regardless of whether mainstream media is liberal, I see little call from either end of the political spectrum for collaboration, cooperation, or compromise. I believe that in ability to at least occasionally meet in the middle, Amy Chua’s arguments notwithstanding, is what is truly contributing to the cultural and economic decline of America.

#140 - BFF (Best Friends Forever) or BFFN (Best Friends For Now) – Thoughts on Friendship

As we begin 2014, my 58^th on this planet (God, am I really that old?), I find myself doing some looking back and reflecting. I don’t know if that because looking back and reflecting is something many people do as they end one year and prepare to begin the next or because I am simply “at that age.” Regardless of the reason, I’m doing it.

Of course, for me, looking back at the past and reflecting on it is nothing new; it is something I’ve done quite a bit over the years. Some of those around me would likely argue I spend too much time dwelling on my past, and they would like be correct. However, there is one area of my past I’ve never spent as much time thinking about, and that is the friendships I’ve been part of over the years.

Perhaps that is because I’ve never considered myself as someone who has had a great many friends in my life. I’m not an easy person to get to know, and I may be an even harder person to get to like; I’ll let my friends (if any are still speaking to me after this) reflect on that. Still, I have had some meaningful friendships in my life, as well as some meaningful gaps in friendship.

The first real friend I remember having was George. George and I were best friends in elementary school for three years. Before we met, I don’t really remember having any friends; there was constantly trouble at home, and I put a great deal of energy into simple survival. There was a girl named Marsha that I played with, but I don’t remember us really being friends, although to this day I still remember her full name, the fact that she had blond hair, and that she wore blue horn-rimmed glasses. Not to mention that she was as tough as any of the boys.

George and I became friends when my mother, my sister, and I moved back into town from the small former mining community in which we had lived. The town was Rosamond, California. It wasn’t really notable for anything, except its relative proximity to Edwards Air Force Base. In the late 1960s, the town made a few headlines because of the uproar over the fact that the new north-south freeway (now known as the Antelope Valley Freeway) being built was possibly by-passing Rosamond, with the nearest on and off ramps set to be located several miles away in either direction. (We moved north before construction was completed, and the plans appear to have later been changed.)

George and I remained friends through fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. I don’t remember ever going to his house or him coming to mine, but we spent all of our free time at school together. We ate lunch together, cut up together, got in trouble together. I remember him having a flat-top haircut, a fairly popular cut for boys in those days.

We were thick as thieves, until the day in 1968 when my aunt loaded my sister and I into her Pontiac station wagon and moved us north to Seattle. (My mother would join us several months later.) We promised to stay in touch and did, in fact, trade a couple of letters, but by the start of 1969, the childhood friendship was over, victim of a trait I have been known to exhibit throughout my life, a failure to follow through and a willingness to cut ties and move on.

After another move a few miles south to Kent, Washington, I made a new best friend, one with whom I would navigate some of the difficult waters known as high school. Wally and I spent a lot of time together in the five years we were in junior high and high school. I don’t remember a lot from those days, as I continued to have my own battles for sanity and survival at home. But I do remember us walking through downtown Kent with two other friends in the dead of night, looking (unsuccessfully as I recall) from some place to get a pizza. I also remember one Fourth of July, one of the few times Wally came out to my house (we lived on the outskirts of town, a mile or so from the nearest residential neighborhoods), when he nearly blew off his fingers when a firecracker with a short fuse went off just as he was throwing it. My right ear rang for three days.

When we graduated from high school, Wally and I drifted apart, each of us off to different colleges. I saw him again a few years later when I received a surprise wedding invitation, then lost track again for a number of years until I talked him into attending a high school reunion. (I still don’t know if he’s forgiven me for that.) I think of us as still friends, though we have each built our adult lives separate from one another and have little contact with another aside from the occasional e-mail or Facebook post.

It would be another ten years before I formed any new close friendships, each lasting a few years at most. I’ve heard it said from time to time that people come into your life for a reason then leave when that reason is no longer valid or that need is no longer present. Looking back from this stage of my life, I can see that is probably true. The few friends I had growing up provided a lifeline that helped save me from the continual turmoil I felt in the family home.

Oddly enough, though, I suspect technology has altered that philosophy and will continue to alter the nature of how friendships build and are maintained. Case in point: fast-forward to 2008. I was taking a job with a grocery chain in its division office. The person coming in to train was the person whose place I was taking. She was not retiring or leaving the job voluntarily; she simply had no desire to move out of state. What could have been awkward turned into something special as we developed a rapport born out of humor, simply political views, and experiences to which the other person could relate.

Heidi and I have been what I consider best friends ever since, despite the fact that we have only seen each other on three separate occasions in the intervening five and a half years. A friendship such as ours would have been difficult, to say the least, five years ago. It would have been impossible, I suspect, before that. Technology has made our friendship possible and has allowed it to thrive.

Most of our friendship has played out via e-mail. I suspect we both communicate better through writing (I know I do), and I feel able to say things I might not otherwise share if not for e-mail. In the past, some of those messages have been lengthy tomes, as one of us would be dealing with something painful, and the other would offer words of encouragement and support. Some of the messages have been no more than a line or two, asking the other if he or she had big weekend plans. They are the kinds of conversations friends have, only in writing and conveyed electronically rather than in person and face-to-face. In a way, I suppose our friendship harkens back to the heyday of pen pals except that our friendship via electronic correspondence might be likened to pen pals on steroids.

Life is sometimes referred to as a race, one long lap in which you strive toward the finish line and your place in the hereafter. With the advent of e-mail and especially Facebook, which have allowed me to build new friendships and reestablish old ones, I feel as if I am getting to run a second lap. Thanks to technology, I am not “living in the past,” as Jethro Tull once sand. Instead, I have brought my past into the present and have worked to balance then and now. The journey continues.

#139 - Goals and Hopes for the New Year (or is that the other way around?)

Since everyone else tends to make their New Year’s Resolutions and voices their goals for the coming year on either New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day, I thought I would buck the trend, being the procrastinator I am, and post my goals for the coming year on January 2. I will also share some of my hopes for 2014.

One of the hopes I have is that somehow, someway, people – especially those holding elective office – can find some way to return to some semblance of meaningful discussion and debate in 2014. Facebook and Twitter, while great for keeping in touch with family and long-lost friends and for spur of the moment comments and conversations, seriously suck as platforms for intelligent and meaningful discussion.

One line comments like “Obama is a socialist” or “Bush was a war criminal” or “[insert favorite topic/group to hate] should rot in Hell” do little to address issues facing our nation and the world as a whole and do even less to kick-start any meaningful conversation on said issues. One place to start this process would be to realize, as Thomas Merton wrote, that “no man is an island.” The actions of one city/state/nation do affect what happens in another city/state/nation, even if indirectly.

Nature does not recognize lines drawn on a map, and neither should we, at least not when it comes to environmental issues. If nothing else, we have to recognize and accept that what we do today will have an impact on tomorrow and that there is no way of predicting every possible outcome, especially if we only consider the immediate and short-term benefits.

Do I expect to see the quality of discourse and the level of civility reverse decades of decline in 2014? No, but a man can dream.

Another hope I have for 2014 is that the debate over gay marriage moves one step closer to being resolved once and for all. I think the tide started to turn in 2013, and I personally hope the momentum continues in the new year. I know there are those who argue that allowing gays to marry is an attack on traditional marriage and on traditional religious values, but I only see an attack on discrimination. As a heterosexual who has been married for 20 years, I’ve never understood how allowing two gay men or two gay women to marry threatened my marriage. There are plenty of other things that could threaten my marriage first, second, third, fourth, and so on, and gay marriage just doesn’t register on the list of potential threats.

I also don’t understand the religious argument against gay marriage. Some Christians say gay marriage goes against their beliefs. I accept that. However, their beliefs are their beliefs, not necessarily someone else’s. The Constitution forbids the establishment of a national religion, and imposing the beliefs of one group onto the nation as a whole goes against that. Of course, there are those clever wits who argue that the reverse is equally true. Not really. Whereas making the views of some opposing gay marriage the law of the land prevents some loving couples from marrying (much as earlier laws forbidding interracial marriage did), allowing gay marriage does not force two people of the same sex to marry one another.

To me, this is a Civil Rights fight, pure and simple. Of course, nothing is ever pure and simple in a nation of so many diverse peoples, cultures, and beliefs, so I expect this fight to continue for at least another few years. However, I think I will see gay marriage as legal in all 50 states in my lifetime.

Now that I’ve dealt with a few “political” topics, let me turn to some personal goals for 2014. In the coming year, I hope to take further steps toward improving my health. For me, that means continuing to improve the way I eat, lose some more weight, and – here comes that dreaded word – exercise. I have a few minor health issues to deal with first, namely some problems with my left shoulder, but I plan to begin working on this as soon as the doctors allow.

Even before the weather begins to warm, my mind is turning to thought of taking out our fifth-wheel. 2013 was a bit of a slow year for us in terms of getting out with the trailer, and my shoulder will keep us from getting off to a quick start with the RV in 2014. Still, I hope to improve on the number of nights we went out with the trailer in 2013. We have one trip booked so far and another one planned, so we are getting the ball rolling.

Going out with the RV allows me to do the only real exercise I enjoy – hiking. I want to do more of that in 2014 and perhaps find more hiking venues in and around Boise. Getting out of town with the RV also gets me closer to nature and, by extension, to God, and that is a good thing as it re-creates balance in my life. Although pronounced “rek-ree-ay-shun ,” recreation can also be seen as a re-creation of the self, and I certainly plan to approach it that way every chance I get this year.

My third goal for 2014 is to do a better job of staying in touch with friends and family. This blog gives me the opportunity to share with them and anyone who happens upon these pages what I’m thinking, feeling, and dealing with in-depth. I will work to make better and greater use of it this year. Facebook has been wonderful for helping me to reconnect with friends and family and has allowed me to engage in the banter that used to take place face-to-face. So I will continue to make use of that technological outlet. Twitter, not so much. One look at this blog should tell you that I would struggle with the 140-character limit on tweets imposed by Twitter. Only simple statements can made in short, simple sentences, and I don’t find those of much interest in terms of carrying on a conversation or a relationship.

The third outlet for staying in touch with friends and family comes courtesy of a cousin who, for several years, has graciously opened his home each summer for several days to a gathering of family and friends. My family and I have been lucky enough to attend the last two years and hope to do so again this year. Thanks, BJ!

Although there will, undoubtedly, be unforeseen things come up, the above list should be enough to keep me busy in 2014. May each of you also have a busy and productive year.

#138 - Looking Forward, Looking Back

New Year's Eve. The time of year when we traditionally look ahead and look back. As I get older, there is more to look back at and less to look ahead to simply because more of my life is now behind me. However, that doesn't me I don't still look ahead.

In the new year, I look forward to more opportunities to get out with our RV and perhaps find new places in which to enjoy nature. When I am out in nature, I feel myself closer to God. I hope to experience more of that in 2014.

In the coming year, I also hope to do more writing. Writing is a challenge for me sometimes. I'm good at it, and I have plenty of ideas on which to write. What I lack is discipline and focus. In 2014, I hope to find some of each.

I hope to start that process with this blog, hopefully becoming more consistently productive in terms of blog entries in 2014. One of the ways I hope to do that is by using this space to weigh in on various issues and topics. I have in the past shied away from writing on political matters here. That will likely end in 2014.

For some time, I have lamented the level of political discussion on Facebook. I have openly stated my assertion that Facebook is not the place for serious political discussion and is likely not an appropriate place for truly serious discussion of any issue. Twitter, because of its 140-character limit on each tweet, is even worse. Both are, to my mind, the 21st century technological equivalent of the 30-second soundbite. They might sound good, but they are not likely to give you the full story or even an in-depth look at any issue.

In the new year, I hope hope to do a better job of getting in touch with and of staying in touch with the people who have been a part of my journey to now. Facebook and this blog will, I hope, play a big part in fulfilling that desire. My cousin's annual get together of family and friends will also help, I suspect.

Those people, family and friends, some all but forgotten, were on my mind as I was writing these words. They were also on my mind when I wrote the words below, words with which I close this entry and 2013, words with which I embark on 2014. Happy New Year everyone!

My New Year's Wish

It's time to turn the clock again
Reflecting on the things we've done and hope to do
Another year has come and gone
Went by so fast, it seems as if the time just flew

More and more these days, I seem to find
Myself looking to another time
Filled with friends and memories in my mind

Here's to you -
Here's hoping that your dreams will all come true
I hope that you find joy in all you do
This is my New Year's wish for you

Looking back at all I have or had
I've come up short but learned to let go of regret
Remembering those who've shared this ride
Wish you were here but know that I will not forget

Along the way, each of you played a part
And your memory lives on in my heart
Long as it does, we'll never be apart

Here's to you -
Here's hoping that your dreams will all come true
I hope that you find joy in all you do
This is my New Year's wish for you

Time and distance separate us
We've had our bumps and bruises on the way
And while there may be things that I'd do different
I wouldn't trade a single day

Here's to you -
Here's hoping that your dreams will all come true
I hope that you find joy in all you do
This is my New Year's wish for you

I hope your dreams will all come true
This is my New Year's wish for you

2013. All rights reserved.

#137 - Thoughts on Faith, Spirituality, and Religion, Part Three

(This is the third and final part of a three-part series)

In August of 2008, I began training to take over the responsibilities of another person working in Utah. Over the course of that experience, and in the months that followed, she and I became friends. For my birthday that year, she sent me a book she said had really helped her spiritually. It would do the same for me.

The book was part one of the trilogy Conversations With God by Neale Donald Walsch. On the surface, a book in which the author claims to have actual conversations with God might sound like a delusional journey into hallucination or even schizophrenia. But something about the book resonated with me, and things that had made little sense before became clearer.

I got so much out of Part One, that I went on to read the remaining volumes in the trilogy. Part One is an intimate, one-on-one “conversation” with God focused mainly on the spirituality of the individual. Each succeeding volume broadens its scope and builds on the messages of the first. I later added another of the author’s books, one which helped me through the transition when I was laid off from that same job five years later.

As I read through the Conversations With God series, I began to get a better sense of what I felt and believed about God, about religion, and about spirituality. At about the same time, I rediscovered my love of camping or, at this stage of my life, RVing, and reconnected with the outdoors. The convergence of these things have helped me to develop a sense of what I believe.

I came to realize that, for me, a single church or even religion was too confining because each, while including some things and people, is in its own way built on its exclusiveness. You became Catholic or Jewish or Baptist, adopting the practices and beliefs of that religion and excluding or dismissing all others. To me, God is much bigger and much more inclusive that any single religion, even bigger and more inclusive than Christianity itself.

At the same time, my wife was undertaking her own re-evaluation, helped along through a revisiting of the teachings of the late Jesuit priest Anthony DeMello. As a result, I think we both ended up in much the same place in terms of what we believe.

So what do I believe? I’m still working that out, but my beliefs tend toward what is expressed in this Hindu saying: "There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading in the same direction, so it doesn’t matter which path you take.  The only one wasting time is the one who runs around and around the mountain, telling everyone else that their path is wrong."

I believe there are many ways to find God, to experience God, to worship God, none better or worse than another. In the same way, I believe each religion and its corresponding holy text contains God’s truth, expressed in the way that makes sense to the culture in which that religion is practiced and the time frame in which that religion initially developed. Just as many different faiths, many far removed from Christianity, have their own versions of the Great Flood story, so too do many faiths have their own way of experiencing the divine, none of them better or more correct than any other.

I think perhaps the Founding Fathers and the authors of the U.S. Constitution had some sense of this idea. The First Amendment certainly expresses this notion when it states that "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof ...." Thomas Jefferson also seemed to follow the same lines when he wrote in 1802 that “religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his god, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship …”

As Jefferson infers, religion, faith, and spirituality are ultimately individual affairs. Belonging to a church or an organized religion may help some feel a sense of belonging, but it should not serve to exclude others because their church, their religion, their faith is different. For me, church and religion are too confining. I find God much bigger than that and find I am closest to God when I am closest to Nature, closest to creation itself.

As I wrote earlier, I believe God’s truth  can be found in the texts of multiple faiths. (I do not capitalize truth here as many religious writers do because I believe no one text has a monopoly on that truth.) Because of that, I hope to spend time in the coming year reading some of those texts or at least parts of those texts. I suspect I will find, as many before me have done, that there will be more similarities than differences. If I am right, then there may indeed be hope for the future, and hope is itself an expression of faith.

#136 - Thoughts on Faith, Spirituality, and Religion, Part Two

(This is part two of a three-part series)

In the spring and summer of 1984, I was a relatively young, relatively underpaid television reporter in Rapid City, South Dakota. I had just come out of my first serious relationship, and I was searching for something. A new co-worker, who was Catholic was leaving to attend a Sunday Mass, and for some reason, I asked if I could go with him.

At the time, there were several things that attracted me to Catholicism. First, it had been the faith of my family before I was born. Second, the structure and the ritual were appealing and comforting. I knew, in passing, the rector of the local cathedral, having interviewed him on several occasions. In addition, our sports director was also Catholic and as nice a man as I have ever met to this day. It was, in a religious sense, a perfect storm.

The  more I learned, the more I was attracted to Catholicism. So, in the fall of 1984, I began attending weekly classes with an eye toward conversion the following Easter. Formally known as the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA), a six-month period that culminates in joining the Church during the Easter Vigil Mass. In my case, the ceremony included a second step as I was formally baptized at the age of 28.

My mother was, to put it mildly, stunned. Her first words to me upon my arrival home for a visit were, “While you’re here, don’t preach.” She later said she thought I might end up a Unitarian but never imagined I’d become Catholic.

Back in Rapid City, I dove headlong into the Catholic experience, becoming a lector, helping with taking the weekly collection, going to the weekly coffee and donuts gatherings after Mass. If I had stayed in Rapid City, I might still be doing many of those same things today.

However, less than a year after becoming Catholic, I found myself moving south, to Alexandria, Louisiana.  My church experience here was different. While most of the people were friendly, I never really felt like I fit in, either here or in Lafayette, where I moved seven months later. The sense of family I had felt in those first heady months after becoming Catholic was gone.

After spending two years in Louisiana, the time had come to move again. I hadn’t fit in and hadn’t made many friends, being a bit more reserved than many in Louisiana or in television are. So I moved back north, to Kalispell, Montana to take a job as an announcer with a Christian radio station. The general manager introduced me to his pastor and got me involved with the singles group in his church. I attended Sunday services, but something felt wrong about it. I was used to the Catholic Communion, and the way it was conducted in this church felt like a pale imitation to me. So I began attending Mass again, though I felt out of place here as well. It seemed I still lacked a spiritual home.

One year after I moved to Kalispell, I moved again, back to Lafayette, Louisiana. After a few months, I took a job in Huntsville, Alabama and looked again for a church to call home. After a few attempts, I settled on a Catholic church in a nearby suburb. I again dove in, becoming a lector and joining the choir for 5:30 Mass. I also joined the singles group, where I met my future wife.

After a few years, by which time we had a son of our own, my wife and I moved to Illinois, where we both struggled to some extent to find our place spiritually. Five years after moving to Illinois, we moved again, following the advice of Horace Greeley and moving west, to Idaho. Although we met nice people in both Illinois and Idaho, we struggled to find a place to call our spiritual home.

In writing this, I’ve come to the conclusion that I joined each church not so much to find God but to find a sense of family, of belonging. At the same time, I wasn’t really sure what I believed. I was sure I believed in God. But whose? My answers to those questions didn’t being to form for another few years and might never have formed if not for a particular birthday gift from a friend.

[END OF PART TWO]

#135 - Thoughts on Faith, Spirituality, and Religion, Part One

(This is part one of a three-part series)

My faith journey up to now might more accurately be described as a series of day trips, some extended, but all of them bringing me back to much the same place.

I was born into a not very religious family. Nominally Catholic at that time, my family might better be categorized as disinterested on uninvolved where religion was concerned. Part of that apathy, at least in my immediate family, likely stemmed from the fact that my mother spent time in a Catholic youth home growing up. Some of those facilities at that time had an apparently well-earned reputation for hardness, if not downright cruelty.

For the first eight years of my life, God, faith, religion, and church were unknown terms and concepts to me (although I believe God and Jesus were referenced in certain phrases I won’t repeat here). It wasn’t until my mother and her second husband separated that I had my first church experiences. (I suppose you might say I also had my first mystical experience at this time, a hallucinatory afternoon in the hot Mojave Desert sun where I imagined our dogs were with me protecting me from snakes and any wildlife that might be around. They were at home, and everyone except me thought I was lost.)

As a single working mother with two pre-teen children, my mother was not always able to be with us or care for us. To fill in the gaps, she paid an older couple to look after us during the week: feed us, get us on the school bus each day, provide a place to sleep five or sometimes six nights a week. Jack was an elderly English immigrant with what seemed a live and let live approach to life. Nora was stern, almost Puritanical, and while she was 20 years younger than her husband, she seemed older in many ways. To this day, I’m not sure I remember ever seeing her smile.

Nora first introduced me to church and religion when I was eight, taking me to Sunday School and then to Sunday services at the local non-denominational church in the small desert California town in which we lived. She gave me my first Bible, a King James version given to me for my ninth birthday. The nameplate inside the front cover had been decorated by her husband, and it was inscribed with my name, though it used the last name of my stepfather, who while separated from her was still married to my mother. I received a second Bible the following June from the Sunday School teacher. 48 years later, I still have them both, kept as physical reminders of my childhood, the good and the bad.

A few years later, we moved to the Seattle area, where most of my family lives to this day. By this time, the connection to Catholicism was broken. Some in the family had joined the Mormon Church, in part, the story went, because of their concern for my grandfather, who had been hospitalized after a heart attack.

My grandmother would make quilts each year for them to sell at church bazaars, but I don’t recall the family attending services regularly. However, I did belong to a Mormon youth group for six months or so while we were living with an aunt. I only remember two things from that experience: learning to read a compass and how to step off a pace, both useful skills but hardly religious or spiritual. After this my religious/spiritual/faith journey stalled. I was 12.

For the next 15 years, my only experiences with going to church came from attending weddings and funerals. My own beliefs were not well formed, though I did believe there was a God. I wasn’t sure, however, what else I believed beyond that.

[END OF PART ONE]

#134 - Thoughts on the Season

Today marks the day set aside by Christians to commemorate the birth of Christ. This, despite the fact that there is no real certainty that Jesus was born anywhere close to December 25. In fact, as some people know, Christmas was born out of the pagan festival Saturnalia as an attempt by early Christians to bring pagans into the flock.

What may not be as well known is that Saturnalia itself was apparently a raucous and somewhat less than Christian affair. From this web page on the  Origin of Christmas:

Roman pagans first introduced the holiday of Saturnalia, a week long period of lawlessness celebrated between December 17-25.  During this period, Roman courts were closed, and Roman law dictated that no one could be punished for damaging property or injuring people during the weeklong celebration.  The festival began when Roman authorities chose “an enemy of the Roman people” to represent the “Lord of Misrule.”  Each Roman community selected a victim whom they forced to indulge in food and other physical pleasures throughout the week.  At the festival’s conclusion, December 25^th, Roman authorities believed they were destroying the forces of darkness by brutally murdering this innocent man or woman.

In some way, I suspect some of that spirit of lawlessness lives on in the rush to shop on Black Friday. The "Lord of Misrule" certainly seems to be at work during the holiday shopping season.

That same web site also outlines the pagan origins of some familiar Christmas traditions, such as the Christmas tree, which may have come from the Asheira cult. a tree worshipping pagan sect. Mistletoe is said to be taken from Norse mythology.

To me, none of this detracts from the spirit of or meaning of Christmas. Christmas originally drew from various cultures and various peoples, just as modern life in a variety of nations draws from the various cultures of its immigrants and the various peoples that make up its population. In a sense, then, Christmas is a drawing or bringing together, if you will, of various customs and influences.

In a more local sense, Christmas does the same thing. Many of us will spend the holiday with friends or with family or with a combination of both. I see it as a drawing or bringing together of people who may not always have time for one another or may not always agree with or get along with one another.

Growing up, my family was not overtly religious. Perhaps that is why, to me, Christmas has always been first and foremost about family. It wasn't always pretty; it was sometimes a bit messy, but that's how most families are.

Devout Christians will tell you that Jesus is the "reason for the season." Others will say that God is love. In my mind, I would go one step further and say that love is what Christmas is really all about - love of friends, love of family, and for those who believe, love of God.

This Christmas, I wish you all the gift of love. Give that gift to those around you, and you will be living out the true meaning of Christmas as I see it. Merry Christmas, everyone!