The Holidays Approach

The seasons come and go in a steady procession
Now the time of has come around to make a personal confession
To reflect on who I am and try not to just deflect
To be thoughtful and true, showing myself respect

So often we spend our time looking outward
Now the time has come to take a deep look inward
To think about how I will move forward
Which of the voices with be heard and unheard

The seasons come and go as long as we endure
Now the time has come again to contemplate and mature
To accept who I am and identify what I want to change
To be careful as my life I will somewhat rearrange

Movies That Make Me Feel and Think

Today I watched the end of The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman and, as always, my eyes filled with tears as, after having heard that her great grandson had been killed, Pittman (played magnificently by Cicely Tyson) goes into town ago orders and, with the moving movie music playing, slowly walks to the courthouse water fountain where she takes a drink of water from the "Whites Only" faucet. That scene supposedly takes place in 1962 and, as we know, so much happened in the years immediately after the scene that changed the face and the color of the United States. Last night, Barack Obama and John McCain debated at the University of Mississippi, which Obama could not have safely attended in 1962. How far we have come, but how far we have yet to go.

Our lives truly are too short to truly see the changing patterns of society. Certainly we can look back and see from where we have come. In the case of Obama running for the presidency of the United States, we can consider the history of the enslavement of blacks, the freeing of the blacks that did not truly result in freedom and all of the steps that led to the place we are in today. However, it is more difficult to see where all of this is heading and what our country and the world will look like in 50 years. Still, it would be nice to have the 100+ years that Miss Jane has (in the movie) to see the wonders of the changing world.

The movie moves me on another level (at least on other level). It reminds me of the importance of giving of oneself on more than the economic level. The people whose lives are portrayed move society forward with a push and a pull, a shove and a drag. This probably is a good message for this time of year in which we will have a chance for reflection during the holidays and another chance to make a new (or more likely re-emphasized) resolution. Time is short so I should start thinking about what I will promise myself this year.

Another movie that mixes water and eyesight is Field of Dreams. It is the last scene (always those last scenes) in which Kevin Costner's character has the opportunity to place catch with his father when his father was a young man before he was "worn down by life" when he had "his whole life in front of him". This moves me on so many levels. First, I would love to have the opportunity to play catch ("interact" in a true give and take) with my father when he was young man. Perhaps that is why, after my mother's death, it was such an emotional pleasure to make a slide show of the pictures of my father when he was young - as a school boy, a high school and college student, an Army officer, and young executive, a young father, etc. The pictures took me part way there, but not as far as I wish I could go. I wish that I had the same type of materials that I have for my mother, for whom I have the pictures, but also a significant amount of her school year writing. So that is the first basis for the connection with the father-son catch scene. The second is the chance to recapture the years of my youth - to do the things that I did with my father as well as the things we never did. I am not overwhelmed by these feelings in life and really am quite content with the relationships I had with my parents. However, a movie like The Field of Dreams brings up the feelings and I have to admit I like those feelings . . . they keep me connected.

A Hell of a Week and A Week of Hell

It was a hell of a week
A week from hell
Didn't sleep that much
Don't feel that well

Wall Street was spinning
From the subprime slide
Taking investment banks down
Already took Countrywide

The market was moving
Down and up and down
Listening to candidates
Trying to sound profound

There were Biden and Palin
Obama and McCain
Empty sound bites
Driving everyone insane

The solution proposals
From those part of the cause
No one understands
Time for a pause

But the debate must go on
It happens tonight
So the week of hell
Ends with a night of fright.

The Life of A Garden

I haven't written about my garden for quite some time (or so it seems to me). I have been busy on other subjects and busy enjoying the fruits and vegetables of my original labors. But now, I return to the garden.

My garden no longer is the vibrant, colorful always growing eden that it was.
Its childhood and teenage period, when the plants concentrated first on survival and then on the early growth, has been left far behind.
Its young adulthood, when the plants were the most productive combining the further establishment of a strong and broad root system and were just beginning to produce their tomatoes, cucumbers, beans and lettuce has passed and is but a distant memory.
Its middle adulthood, when the plants matured their stalks and became prolific producers of fruits and vegetables which were enjoyed on an almost daily basis, recently came to an end.
Its late middle age and early old age now is upon us and although the garden no longer is vibrant and active, and many plants are withering and dying, but it remains productive as
the latecomer tomato plants that resisted growth and maturity for so long finally have produced at lest a few tomatoes each although the opportunity for those tomatoes to ripen on the vine is questionable.
the large lush tomatoes continue to grow and mature into their delicious redness,
the cherry tomatoes continue to provide an early morning and pre-dinner treat for there is nothing as satisfyingly tasty as a tomato eaten within seconds of being picked,
the last of the cucumbers and beans offer themselves up in their largest and greenest condition,
the squash plant that until this last phase of the garden had flowered but not produced not has concentrated its entire effort on one squash that seems to grow even as it is watched, and
the single cauliflower that had started to form its brain resembling offering late in the season now has been joined by two other cauliflowers, one of medium size and one being a baby, so that one is reminded of the three bears or the three billy goat gruffs.
The carrots continue to grow there green indicators while their orange roots remain to finish maturing,
And soon, the growth of the garden will end, the last of the vegetables and fruits will be harvested, the red tomatoes will be eaten with a broad smile and deep "ah", the green tomatoes will be given a chance to finish their conversion to red off the vine, and the plants will die.
Still, the earth of the garden will remain, the possibility of a future garden will remain, and the dreams of the gardner will continue.

Though For The Day: Even as I wrote, I was unsure as to whether I was describing my garden, which has given me such pleasure, or life in general for the stages of each are much alike, and I am heartened by the recognition that even as the garden and the person age, they can remain productive and can yield newness. Also, just as the brain-shaped cauliflower matured late, perhaps the human brain truly only matures later in the season of life, and just as the carrots have always been visible above the surface and only at the end will the results of a season of growth become visible, perhaps the essence of the human only becomes evident at the end of life, and just as the earth remains to grow a new garden, the earth remains for future gardens and gardeners.

Lint From The Dryer

It was a typical morning in our house with the activities starting early from waking the barely wakeable to walking the four dogs. The dogs can barely contain their excitement from the time they first hear our feet hit the floor as we get our of bed to when the vibration of our feet on the stairs as we approach their eager faces that seem to say "take me first, take me". Then, there was the unexpected knock on the door and our friend, who was running by, telling us with concern in her voice that there was smoke coming from our roof. When one has had a major fire as we had 13 years ago, you do not take these sightings or any smell of smoke lightly. First, a quick check of the house with one of us inspecting the entire basement (no smell of smoke there) and one of us inspecting the upstairs (no fire, but a slight smell of something (was it our imagination) from the dryer. Then, it was a quick trot up the hill from where I could see the roof and the culprit was evident immediately - the "smoke" was coming from the dryer vent. After a rapid bounce down the hill, a scurry through the house, and a trot up the stairs, I climbed out of a bedroom window (folding my body through the half-window opening used to be easier) carefully walked up to the second roof level, stepped up and walked to the dryer vent. Relief was immediate as I smelled the "smoke" that turned out to be only water vapors meeting the air and posing as smoke.

But wait, what was that material coming out from under the hood on the vent - a touch of that blue-red sinuous soft down material called lint. So much for the lint trap that we clean on an every load basis and which I find to be an enjoyable experience since it clumps together and pulls the other fibers with it to leave an almost clean screen ready to be placed back into its protective slot from which it does its work. I pulled the small piece of visible lint and felt like the magician who puts a brightly colored silk handkerchief in his (take your pick) mouth, closed hand, pocket, and then pulls it back out, but this time, the single handkerchief doesn't stop coming - more and more connected sheets of silk. In my case, it was lint, but the result was the same as more and more lint appeared. It took a few minutes, but a significant amount of lint was removed (although, when squeezed, it was but a tiny insignificant ball) and the vent seemed clean. "Seemed" because who know what was hidden in the 10 feet of metal pipe that ran from the dryer to the vent - that was a job for a professional, but all seemed to be fine for the time being.

It was fine until I read an article the next day that described how a woman had lost her life in a house fire after she had saved her two daughters. The cause of the fire was - lint in the vent pipe.

Thought For The Day: We each have lint that builds up in our lives - the type of life lint that prevents us from fully functioning, but often without our knowing that it is having an impact. Sometimes we recognize the lint and do our regular cleaning and feel as if our screen is clean and we are refreshed. But, how much of our life lint has gotten by our screening process and already has seeped into the basic pipes of our daily living. Eventually, that escaped life lint has to be cleaned out for the failure to do so can impact us just as the dryer lint impacts the clothes drying process. At first, our life lint simple will slow our processing (as the dryer lint results in an increase in drying time), Eventually, the life lint will create such a significant blockage that it will cause a burn-out of the over worked life or will result in a fire that destroys the life that we have taken our lifetime to create or destroys (or at least singes or burns the loved ones around us much like a dryer fire can destroy a home or cause the loss of loved ones and loved possessions)). So perhaps the lesson is that we need to clean our life lint screen on a regular basis (daily as we do our life loads). clean the vents for the visible life lint that seems to show itself over time, and, occasionally to let someone else assist us in cleaning out the life lint that we can't seem to reach ourselves - all so that we can keep our life pipes as clean as possible and our life (dryer) functioning at the highest and safest levels.

Remembering How To Think

As I waited last week for a hearing to begin (a rare appearance for me in front of a town board), I realized that I don't really have much unused time which, put another way, means that I do not take much time to just think without doing something to keep myself occupied. As far as I can tell, this is true of many people who I know. We work, turn on the television or radio, read, talk, play games, attend meetings and the list goes on, but we rarely just think.

For me, the closest I come to just thinking is my writing. I know that writing is not the same as purely thinking, but it does seem to focus my thought process in a way that I am unable to do when I try to just sit or walk, and think. Perhaps over the years, my ability to think without something facilitating the process has been lost or perhaps it never developed. In fact, I remember my solo trip around the western parts of the United States (with a 400 mile two day venture into western Canada) in 1975 (or was it 1974).

Although this has nothing to do with my story, I will not (for posterity) that I started in Omaha driving my blue 1966 Opel Cadet station wagon that I fondly named Sugar Magnolia. I drove to Colorado where I visited a friend in Boulder, headed north to Montana and Wyoming where the blue sky continues forever, through Idaho (to where I will return shortly - in this entry), to Spokane where I visited with my brother (who then was in law school at Gonzaga) and waited for new parts for my car that was not holding up well. Eventually, I spent time in Seattle, British Columbia, a small town in northern Canada (one night), and then drove down through Oregon, California and across the southwestern states ending with a 36 hour drive so that I could attend my grandmother's 80th birthday (back when 80 seemed so old - but it doesn't anymore). So many stories in this journey that will have to wait for another time.

So, back to the story (which really isn't that exciting). When in Idaho, I returned to a location (it can't be called a town or even a village) named "Burgdorf Junction". My brother and I had first visited Burgdorf Junction on our trip to visit Spokane. That was a very special trip that started with a car that wouldn't go and ended with a tighter bond than I had ever had with my brother - but that to will have to wait for another time. Burgdord consisted of a series of log cabins spread over the lush green hillside, a two story log cabin hotel, and a one story log cabin building with a store and who knows what else that was adjacent to a large hot springs. Just to see if I had imagined this beautiful place (where Teddy Roosevelt used to hunt, or so we were told), I just googled it and here is a picture - exactly as I remembered it. Now, the reason for this story (beside the preservation of my history). I remember driving out of Burgdorf to a picnic area where I was the only person. I had decided to find a place, just like this, were I could spend a day in thought. I remember wondering it what I was supposed to be thinking about. What do people think about? Perhaps the meaning of life or perhaps something small like the meaning of my life or perhaps something else, I wasn't sure then and I am not sure now. Even if I knew, where does one begin and how does one learn from just thinking silently. SOme people must be good at this, but I don't think I am. I certainly wasn't back in Burgdorf Junction for I remember the feeling of discomfort with the concept of trying to think and the relief when I have myself a "get out of jail" pass after a short time (I think it was an hour, but it seemed like an alternative. I believe that the importance of this occurrence was that now, over 30 years later, the memories and feelings still rise to the surface when I think about thinking.

In any case, I hope that this writing expands my thinking skills. I already have noticed that it seems to be expanding my ability to observe for I notice many things that I don't remember noticing before, and my ability to make connections and draw conclusions from what I see or experience (perhaps so that I will have something to write about, although I often write about nothing and then try to find a message in the writing. I think that I will head to bed now, turn off the lights and try to think - but I bet I just fall asleep and let the thoughts be caught up in dreams.

Watching Baseball and Thinking About Life

Our couches and chairs are filled with people watching the Red Sox competing for first place, but no one truly is focused as conversations and activities have first place in the attention game. Only through the gift of the nonstop melodious voices of the announcers and the techological magic of home controlled instant replays are we able to stay informed on the game.

The animals scatted about the room like throw rugs are more focused as they concentrate on rest unless, unbeknown to our human know it all intelligence, these animals are thinking about the meaning of life, whether god exists and, if so, is god a dog or a cat, or perhaps the truly existential thoughts of when to eat and drink again, and where to stretch out.

The game is on the line and the excitement of the animals is . . . barely perceptible or perhaps more accurately, non-existent. So, are they wiser than we are having limited their lives to the bare essentials or do they simple have the benefits of their intellectual limitations. With animals, I would bet on the latter. However, with some people, it is a conscious choice. I am reminded of my summer days during college when I work a series of what I considered to me menial jobs ranging from loading trucks to working in a box making factory to rolling and cutting and rolling fabric. Like our animals, most of the workers seemed to have limited interests in advancement and the challenges of the workplace. However, for most of these people, the choice was consciously made. They enjoyed having a job that did not take a tremendous amount of thought beyond keep up the pace to a reasonable level (but not the level of the on-so-smart.stupid college kid who is here for the summer and doesn't realized that we are here forever), not hurting their backs or cutting their hands, and making sure not to work outside of the required hours. Moreover, after talking with these people (o.k. I will admit all of them were men), I discovered that most enjoyed not having to make decisions, not having the success of the business rely upon them, going home without taking the job with them, and being able to enjoy their families and their free time (of which there was a significant amount). During even deeper conversations, I found that many of these people were knowledgeable, relatively well read,had interesting hobbies and outside activities, and understood the importance of education (as demonstrated by the pride they had in their children who were attending college - which may be an indication that these men might have wanted to do more, but didn't have the chance or the skills - but that destroys much of the thoughts that I have just written. Perhaps it just is not black and white, but like most things just shadings.

In any event, I for one prefer the excitement of a human life (now, I am back to the animal comparison), which is a life that is like a baseball game in that it has its hits and strikeouts, its walks and runs, its speed and its plodding times, and its scores and close plays. And in life, like baseball, we always seem to be trying to go home.

The Secrets in Compromise

Compromise

CO is for the cooperation that is needed to compromise
OM is for the meditative calm that is needed for compromise
MP is for emptiness that arises from inability to compromise
PRO is for the need to become professional at compromising
ROM is for the romance that is needed to compromise
OM is to show that meditative calm truly is needed for compromise
MI is to remind me that one of MY goals is to compromise
IS is the action word to remind me that compromise is an active pursuit.
SE is for the world we want to SEE through compromise.

The Fruits of the Minds of Others

On Sunday, we attended a seminar that was a part of a celebration honoring Barry Shrage, the Executive Director of CJP. The following are my notes, taken on my iPhone. The notes were not the type one would take if taking a course, but rather are phrases that I found interesting and may inspire future writings.

What does it mean to be a secular Jew?
Beauty and the poasibility of meaning in this world
I may be an orthodox rabbi bit I am not a rabbi orthodox Jews
Open nonjudgmental
Who is a Jew and who is a a rabbi?
Boring irrelevant community
Diversity of definitions
Drawing maps on water
Affirming your Jewishness
Status versus identity
Issues are much more complicated
Responsiaibilities to individuals
Parallel separate portals
What is the sense identity
What leads to the extremes
What can we create that has meaning
If you think it can be drone it can be done
The last link in the chain Amd the new to open the link and create connections
What truly are mutually exclusive ideas
Care engage and learn
What are the signs of those looking for roots.
Melting pot versus the tossed salad
Is it not enough to believe in god
Searching for the message of ethical interpersonal relationships
The answer comesbfrombthe perspective
The Torah as a guiding light in our life
What are the important attributes
Jewishness peoplehood religious ethical components.
Feelings are neither eight nor wrong they just are
It depends which way you are going ip the ladder or down
Act as I you were no god when you see a poor man on the street
I am a skeptic about everything
Not a atheist just a skeptic
What does my fathervknow about what I want
As all are in process
Heart filled with interest or love
Variety of wpxperiwnce that can deepen ones life

Interesting Articles Lead to Thoughts

I read (what I think) are a couple of interesting articles. One described a new computer game called "Spore" (by the creator of Sims - the all time highest selling computer game in history) in which the player (a god figure) gets to help guide the creation and, to a degree, the evolution of one cell creatures. Although I haven't played Spore yet (although I am looking forward to doing so), it presents the chance to see the different ways in which a world can evolve. I am reminded of the theme of a series of books by Daniel Quinn. The theme is that our world and our civilization could have evolve in a very different way. In other words, the world in which we live is not the only world that could have come about. For Quinn, the turning point was the agricultural revolution (probably more properly an agricultural evolution) for it was at that point that man (human, that is) moved from true tribal societies living in harmony with the land to systems in which the land was cultivated and controlled (to a degree) so that there was more food than any one person , group or tribe needed. As a result, the food had to be stored and the stored food had to be protected. Armed forces were raised for such protection and those forces had to be fed and paid. I could go on with manner in which this led to cities, writing, accounting, etc., but suffice it to say that we could have remained in a tribal (socialist) form rather than a capitalist form. Quinn also wrote a book entitled "After Dachau" which examines the world that arises if Hitler and his policies had won World War II. Without revealing the outcome, suffice it to say that when the world changes those living in it often are blind to the other possibilities. At least with Spore, you can go back and experiment with different scenarios and try to get it right (assuming there is a right, but that is the topic for another journal entry).

The second article discussed a new recent discovery that the Wooly Mammoth migrated to North America and then tens of thousands of years migrated back across the Bering Strait. During the period that the Wooly Mammoth lived in North America, it developed differently from its Asian cousins. Whatever those differences were, they allowed the Wooly Mammoth to survive while the Asian Woolies were dying off. So, from a common starting point, different animals and different outcomes resulted. In Spore, one probably witness a similar situation by starting with a single creature, duplicating it and then making slight variations. How interesting.

Thought For The Day: At every level in the history of humans, choices are made by individuals, by groups and by civilizations, and those choices can change every aspect of world and our lives. For most of us, the ability to truly understand the effects of these choices is beyond our reach for a variety of reasons including the fact that we do not act in a vacuum. There are so many other decision makers that impact the impact of our individual decisions. Much like trying to understand all of the factors that determine the weather. So, perhaps the best we can do is to study the past (whether the distant past and the paths to the present or the immediate past (earlier today) current outcome (but how will it change. In any event, I am tired and feel like I am just rambling so I will come back to this concept later and, in the meantime, hope that what I have left unsaid doesn't have any world changing impacts - I think I am safe.

Morning Thoughts

I am born for another day and I am thankful.
I am blessed by the experiences and knowledge from prior days.
I am blessed with the opportunity to use my experiences and knowledge wisely.
I am blessed with the prospects of this day.

I can make this day one of loving.
I can make this day one of caring
I can make this day one of helping.
I can make this day one of creating.

I can make this day one of appreciation.
I can make this day one of recognition.
I can make this day one of contemplation.
I can make this day one of determination.

I can make this day one that dries tears.
I can make this day one of joy.
I can make this day one that improves the world.
I can make this day one that will make me proud.

I can make this day one of smiling and laughing.
I can make this day one of nourishing body and soul.
I can make this day one of learning and teaching.
I can make this day the day of a lifetime.

I can live this day wisely.
I will live this day wisely.

Politicians

Just a bunch of politicians
Practicing age old traditions
Telling people what they want to hear
And playing on every fear.

Vote for me if you want prosperity
Vote for me if you want to be free
Vote for me for a chicken in your pot
Vote for me if you want to stay hot.

Selling everyone a brand new deal
But all they do is wheel and deal
Not a thing they won't do and say
Promising a bright new day.

Vote for me if you want to work
Vote for me not that other jerk
Vote for me not the one with a smirk
Vote for me not the one who will irk.

But they're just politicians
Always making peace filled predictions
Really making work for the morticians
Never really changing any conditions.

Vote for me I'll make the peace
Vote for me I'll make the war cease
Vote for me your money will not decrease
Vote for me for promises that increase.

I am just a simple politician
Practicing an age old tradition
Telling you what you want to hear
Playing on your every fear.

Vote for me!

Office Poetry

Over the years, I have been known to send out rhyming e-mails such as the following:

Attached are my proposed revisions
to Steve's well-crafted modifying provisions.
My computer highlighted changes are few
I believe they'll be acceptable to you.

Also provided for your review
Concepts that should be addressed, too.
Admittedly more than 100 words have been used
But too few words and we all would be confused.

So as I note in my attached explanation
I'm available. to complete the documentation
You can call me or I'll call you
Let's just review my concepts revise and be through.

And now I bid you all a good night
Tomorrow let's make everything right.
Then as soon as the escrow we release
The documents will arrive and all will be at peace.

Thought For The Day: As much as we try to compartmentalize parts of our lives, the elements seems to spill over. This sometimes presents challenges, but it also is reassuring in that we come to realize that we are who we are, and we can use our skills and style in all of the settings of our lives.

Fewer Words

Readers complain about length
Want writings short with strength
For one day I'll comply
And with fewer words get by

Teenagers
Unknowingly unknowing
Believing unbelievable beliefs
Feeling deep feelings
Teenagers

Elders
Knowing knowledge
Experiencing unbelieveable experiences
Feeling deep feelings
Elders

Middleagers
Questioning beliefs
Questioning questionable experiences
Experiencing questioning constantly
Middleagers

Teenager looking for cortex connection
Middleager looking for spiritual connection
Elderly looking for all connections

Teenager seeking perfection
Middleager seeking connection
Elder hoping for erection

The World Outside My Window

My office looks out into a lush green forest that seems to be in constant motion ranging from a slight shaking similar to the gentle vibration of a finally tune engine to active movement as if it were a load of laundry being tossed about in an out of control washing machine.

The motion of light also plays out within the forest for as the sun moves through the sky different surfaces are brightened or shaded, and the greens take on as many colors as the range of a rainbow.

The motion of animal life also is a constant. The insects and small animals, invisible to the casual observer, blend in the rich soil, and decaying leaves and branches that cover the ground or crawl along the tree bark some of which is partially covered in a faded green moss, or fly about freely in their limited world that undoubtedly does not seem limited to them.

The motion of animal life exists at the larger level. There is the gentle movement of a deer as it ballets through the woods and nibbles on the leaves; sometimes becoming statute still with only its eyes darting and ears twitching until a sound cause a sharp jerk in its neck as if an invisible cord was suddenly yanked.

Today, there was a sweet morsel of sight that appeared just outside of the window as a romanesque hawk perched on the trash dumpster fence. The hawk remain motionless from its neck area down for most of its stay, its head twisting freely as it surveyed the landscape. Occasionally, our hawk rustled its feathers in a manner that the brown outer covering separated to expose the white undercoat almost as if the suit coat had been opened to reveal a pure white dress shirt. It sat unconcerned with sounds or movements with the power of its piercing eyes oozing with confidence and invincibility. Then, it spread its wings, and leaping into the air, it flew quickly up to a new locations leaving only the memory of its regal majesty.

Thought for the Day: Just as the insects and small animals view their world as endless while, in fact, the world extends far beyond what they could know or comprehend, the same is true of our world. We live in the world that we know whether the world of our minds, the worlds of our physical settings or even the world of our spirituality. Yet, how many other world constructs are there that we don't know. What are the worlds and dimensions we do not see? What are the worlds of people on our earth that we do not know of or know only a little about from the news or our readings or our vacation trips? What are the worlds within ourselves waiting to be discovered?

Middle Age Spread

I looked around today and realized (once again) that I am in the midst of a middle age spread. If it were simply a middle age spread of my middle (and it is that), I would know what to do in order to get it under control (but knowing is different from doing). However, this middle age spread has to do with the movement of my family away from the home base. This occurred before, but after a summer of having my favorite people living in our house and even with the heightened feelings that such close living created, /i am feeling the spread again. My oldest has gone to graduate school and with that move, I have lost the ability to look her in the eye, to give her a hug and to simply see her in person. I can't wait until we have the computer video up and running. My middle child has started college and our communication will be more limited as he continues to establish his independence while hopefully laying the foundation for his true independence. I will miss his shadow moving through the house, the knowledge that he is in his room even if it is behind a locked door, and the smile that we sometimes catch on his beautiful face. But, my middle age spread is not limited to the children who have physically left our home, it also can be seen in my youngest as he continues to establish himself as a moving toward independence young adult. Luckily, we have two more years to enjoy his company up close and personal, appreciate his growth in all areas of his life, and hopefully help to guide his growth so that he too will be able to contribute to my middle age spread.

Thought of the Day: If our loved ones move away from us, which is the way of modern day life and I think necessary for everyone's growth, then we (in this case I) are obligated to exercise in order to turn this departure (creating a middle age spread) into muscle. One of the challenges in doing this form of exercise (creating an even stronger and fuller relationship with my wife, finding activities that are creative, giving and fulfilling, and getting in better physical condition) is that it takes time and that time is taken away from enjoying the children while they are around. Balance balance balance.


Taking time takes time away from time for other things
Bringing love brings love to the loved to which we cling
Leaving home leaves home behind but home never leaves our heart
Moving on is a move on to a new adventure and a new start.

Preparation for Application

In painting, the key to success is in the preparation more than in the application of the paint. That seems to be the case with much of life - the key is in the preparation for the task or, put another way, the path to the destination - a topic that I have touched upon before. So, knowing that to be the case, why do we find it so challenging to prepare well?

It would be easy to say that we are so eager to get to the main task (the application of paint) or the destination, that we simply fail to focus on the preparation or path. However, I think that there is much more to this issue than that simple answer suggests. In most situation, we either do not know how to prepare properly or we know how to prepare, follow through and then find that the task was different than we thought or the destination we reach is not the one that we anticipated (perhaps in whole or in part because of a problem with the preparation or a failure to recognize the changing landscape.

Today, Matt started college. Is he prepared? As with everyone, only time will tell. However, the first question is "prepared for what? For the academic challenge that faced each student? For the social challenge of forming new friendships? For the challenging of retaining the positive relationships he has made and terminating the toxic relationships (and, most importantly in this regard, being able to tell the difference between the two)? The list goes on, but it is not a list that is unique to Matt. What is unique and will be only his own is that manner in which he faces and resolves the challenges. We wish him luck, we offer our support, we send him off with all of our love and very best wishes. May he choose his path wisely, navigate the waters while keeping his head above water, climb the mountains that are slightly higher than he thought he could, find love for and faith in himself, and realize how much we love him.

Dance of the Candidates

The candidates each offer their name
Enter the race to play the game
Gain recognition and create fame
But really they all are the same.

The goal of each candidate
Tell everyone they are great
Raise their numbers so they rate
Avoid suffering the losing fate.

Voters listen to each campaign
Speeches fall like the non-stop rain
Words that sound so inane
DRiving the listeners totally insane.

Until only one of each party does remain
The losers support rather than complain
Waiting for the convention to ordain
The one wanted for four years to reign.

When conventions eventually come around
Each on their own piece of ground
Where delegates, police and media abound
Speeches and clapping the predomimant sound.

No surprise in the top nomination
About number two only a little hesitation
Until everyone undertands to positive relation
And is ready to proceed with the coronation.

Speeches of a lifetime on each final night
Show the world why the candidate is right
Sometimes creating a sense of fright
Sometimes describing a future bright.

To the delegates no need to preach
It's the television audience they want to reach
In the hope that the undecided they can teach
And thus arise victorious rather that fall into the breech.

Now the final race has begun
Each party prepared for the two month run
And when the voting is all done
The world will know who has won.

Optimist, Pessimist and Realist

The Optimistic: The rays of sunshine shined down upon me as the matching inner light warmed my face and only the slightly flush feeling of the inner light allowed me to know the difference between the two types of light, one from within and one from out. While the inner light rose like the warmth from a glowing fireplace, the sunlight was announced by the brightness of the blue sky as if to state with pride and certainty its power that could not be controlled. Still it was the inner warmth that seemed to be the truly uncontrollable natural event for eventually the sunshine would stop and the warmth of the sun would be replaced by the storm clouds with an occasional sunlit blue sky, but the inner warmth would continue to rise forever even when it could no longer be seen on the outside.

The Pessimist: The pellets of rain rained down upon me as the matching tears rolled down my face and only the slightly salty taste of the teardrops allowed me to know the difference between the two types of natural water, one from within and one from out. While the tearsdrops rose like a softly bubbling well, the rain was announced by lighting and thunder as if to state with pride and certainty its power that could not be controlled. Still it was the teardrops that seemed to be the truly uncontrollable natural event for eventually the rainfall would stop and the clouds would be replaced by the deep blue sky with an occasional cloud, but the tears would continue to flow forever even when they could no longer be seen on the outside.

The Realist: Sometimes the rays of sunshine shined down upon me as the matching inner light warmed my face and only the slightly flush feeling of the inner light allowed me to know the difference between the two types of light, one from within and one from out. Sometimes the pellets of rain rained down upon me as the matching tears rolled down my face and only the slightly salty taste of the teardrops allowed me to know the difference between the two types of natural water, one from within and one from out.

When the inner light rose like the warmth from a glowing fireplace, the sunlight was announced by the brightness of the blue sky as if to state with pride and certainty its power that could not be controlled. When the tearsdrops rose like a softly bubbling well, the rain was announced by lighting and thunder as if to state with pride and certainty its power that could not be controlled.

Still it was the both the inner warmth and the tears that were the truly uncontrollable natural events for eventually the sunshine or the rain would stop and the rays of the sun would be replaced by the storm clouds or the storm clouds would be replaced by the sunshine, for the feelings are ever changing, but there is comfort in knowing that the sun always shines again and the sun-filled days far exceed the rain-filled days.

The Truth The Whole Truth and Nothing But The Truth

It is challenging watching the political conventions this year as one has to spend so much time trying to determine what is true, what is partially true and what is simply false. Statements are made (on each side) on each side that are true, but don't tell the whole story and, once the whole story is known, both the import and the impact of the statement is dramatically changed. So, the question is, how does one make a decision as to whom deserves your vote. A challenging proposition. Even more interesting is the number of people who seem to discount policy and positions, and instead rely on speaking ability, looks and other factors that should be non-important or, at least, less important.

Thought for the Day: Perhaps the political season is just a microcosm of the larger world. Most do not present the entire story and the stories that most tell are presented in a manner to present a picture - a picture of what we want the world to see. This is not necessarily bad, as the choice of what we want the world to see also is a choice of what we think is the "proper" picture - the way that we want to be even when there are competing internal interests. Is is better to act and present in any way we want, without thought, and just say "this is who I am" - I think not. Also, how much are each of us swayed by the way people look or speak, rather than looking at a person's substance - the whole picture.

Harvesting the Garden

Each morning and evening now, I have the pleasure of harvesting fresh vegetables from my garden. This morning, I picked (either from the vine or off the ground) a few hearty large red tomatoes and a few cherry ones, as well as a bunch of green beans. Yesterday, the harvest also included some cucumbers. Indeed, Monday evening, our barbequed chicken was accompanied by a plate full of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers freshly brought down from the garden. I have to admit that eating the fruits of my labor (even if those fruits may be vegetables) creates a certain satisfaction and adds to the delightful taste of each bite. Soon I will have to face the decision of what to do with the tomatoes that will ripen at a pace that exceeds our ability to eat them ourselves. Gaspacho (but then the tomatoes will lose their individuality), as part of various recipes (but then the tomatoes will be sliced and diced, and baked and will lose the thrill and benefits of their freshness) or as gifts (which will allow me to spread the wealth of homegrown tomatoes). There remain over 75 ripening large beauties and as many of the cherry variety, so I will have the decision to make. And then, what to do with the carrots if they ever reach maturity. What a wonderful problem to have.

Thought for the Day: It is said that you reap what you sow, but the reality is that you don't always know how much you will have the opportunity to reap. In some cases, you are lucky enough to have a large harvest. In other cases, even with plans and work, the harvest is not what you had hoped for. In each of these cases, the trick is to enjoy whatever may come and make the best of it. Another thought, when you are blessed with a wealth of product (whether fruits and vegetables, opportunities, money, material goods, knowledge or otherwise), there is an obligation to share that wealth. No new or deep thoughts here, just a clear truth. The challenge is in how that obligation is analyzed and put into practice.

Breaking the Rules

This was written earlier today as I drove and then pulled to the side of the road. It is a song with the tune in my head.

The double yellow line doesn't keep me from crossing the road
If I decide there's another side on which I want to go
Because you get only one ride down the road of your life
So you've got to get it right even if the decisions cause you strife.

Sometimes when there's a stop sign you have to roll right on through
For on your travels down life's road there's so much to see and do
Just look both ways and all around before you proceed
But don't delay too long just because of some standard you don't need.

When you approach a sign that instructs you to yield or just to slow
You don't have to stop but just be sure to be careful when you go
For in the end you have your life's schedule and can't afford to be hesitate
So slow down a little and yield if you want, just don't wait and wait.

Sometimes the sign says there are curves in the road ahead
So be prepared for excitement and do so without dread
No one's life road is straight without some directional change
Just be ready to move forward and for your life road to be rearranged.

Dreams - Then and Now

The following entry was composed (for the most part) as I headed toward sleep last night, September 1, and is being posted today.

After I had crawled in bed and closed my eyes very tight
Explosions started inside my head producing bright flashes of light
Each dot of lot reminded me of the lighting bugs we caught in our yard
There were so many back in my youth collecting them wasn't even hard.

Then I thought about a dream I had as a child more than once or twice
Miniature jet fighter planes and pilots floated from the sky like bits of wedding rice
I would catch those parachuting planes and men with nets used for butterflies
But when I told my brother in the morning to him it was just a lie.

Then there were the dreams that I caused me fright for many a day
Of the growling dog chasing me with fangs and drool and not a word could I say
Nor could I move my body not even my feet no matter how hard I did try
I remember being consumed by pure panic and fear as I thought that I would die.

There was the dream of being at school and discovering we had a major test
But I was the only one caught unaware so there was no way to do my best
I looked around at the other students with whom I went to that school
And sat dejected knowing that I looked like a total fool.

But now my dreams are different and are as pleasant as can be
Filled with new experiences and adventures like flying around gravity free
Exploring times and places to which in life I will never get to go
Now my dreams are tickets to a nightly extraordinary show.

Creative Writing - The Process and the Product

Explanation: First, an explanation (just in case someone someday actually reads this). The following is an exercise in creative writing that I used to occupy my time while flying from Minneapolis to Boston. The story has no full plot line that is known to me as I simply wrote what came to mind and tried to take it somewhere (probably knowing that I didn't have to take it anywhere). I suppose the goal was to continue my recent attempts at trying to be more descriptive. In is an interesting exercise, but probably only to me as it is the creative process itself that is the goal. My attempts at creative writing are not new. For example, when I returned to Omaha in 1974 (or was it 1975), I enrolled in a creative writing class at the I enrolled in a creative writing class. Perhaps it was to improve my writing skills to see if I could "go somewhere with writing", but it was just as likely for the purpose of meeting new people (as in women, but that is an entry for another day). I also kept a journal during some of those years in Omaha and during my travels to ISrael and Europe, and I hope to find it at some point so that I can post some of the "writings from the early years" and to see how my thinking has changed. These days I write for the same reasons that I make my movies. It is a creative outlet that lasts beyond the instance in which the creative process takes place. Will the movies be watched and, if so, for how long? Will these entries be read and, if so, by whom and when? Perhaps it will be me who, later in life, looks back at what I was creating in my fifties. In that case, what will the later Ron Fellman think of this Ron Fellman? Time will tell.

Thought for the Day: An important part of the human experience is the desire and perhaps need to create. The question that faces each person is in what part of the creative process will she or he participate. Clearly, this creative process is not limited to one or two areas for creativity takes place throughout each day and certainly throughout life. For me, the creative process needs to take place at many levels - family, community, work and personal, and it is too often that the balance between these creative arenas becomes skewed. So, as a mentor of mine once stated, in life (and, I would add, in the creative process) one must be the conductor of a symphony keeping balance and allowing each section to lead at different times.

So, the following entry was written yesterday, August 31, but is being posted today.

Chapter One

The gentle vibrations pulse through the carpet covered metal floor rising through the silver aluminum legs to the cloth encased foam seats and finally to my weary resting body. As the doors close and the final instructions are given, the meticulously shaped capsule of steel filled with a mixture of high octane potentially explosive fuel and people of all ages, shapes and sizes also of a potentially explosive nature, begins to lumber down the concrete ribbon. The plane accelerates and the view through the portal shaped scratched plastic window begins to blur the close by landscape while the buildings risingin the distance like gray brown stalactites barely move.

My mind is filled with my standard take off thought of whether this mass of fuel, metal, plastic, rubber, wire, food, uniforms, flesh, bones and blood will me able to lift into the air before the runway turned to grass then sand and then nothingness resulting in the plane dissolving with all that of held within its bowels. Hard to believe that after the number of flights I have been on that this still concerns me. Even harder to believe that I allow my mine to wander to areas over which I have no control. I rub my aching temples, the result of one too many vodkas and a few too little hours of sleep. I know I need to focus on my mission, which is not to will the plane onto the air, but is making sure that the plane lands safely at its destination with the one person who may me able to stop the madness taking place on our nation's Capitol.

Chapter Two:

It was a crisp sunny day, cooler than the norm for the end of August, with a seemimgly constant breeze moving the leaves and small branches of the trees that had long ago blossomed. The endless litter that filled the streets and walkways, notwithstanding the ongoing efforts of the District's finest sanitation workers, danced to the symphony created by the wind and leaves accompanied by the rumbling trucks that were the life giving cells of the city and the constantly blaring horns of the thousands of cars taking their mostly individual wasteful passengers to places where they thought they had important work to do. In fact, nothing could have been farther than the truth, but they could not have known that any more than I could have nor could any of the safety personnel have known, not the police with their soon to be useless revolvers strapped around their protruding doughnut filled bellies or the firemen who rested in their always red brick firehouses with rubber boot and jackets, and emblazed metal helmets at the ready, and not even the generals with their tens of thousands of uniformed soldiers with every human life destroying weapons at their command. For the challenge that each of us would face was one that brute force could not combat.

Chapter Three

As I walk down the aisle, I search the faces of each passenger looking for any clue that can narrow the list of potential adversaries. There is no need to narrow the list of potential victims for if I do not find some way to stop the person who intends to take the steps necessary to divert this plane from its destination, we will all be the victims and perhaps the entire human population of the world will the ultimate victims.

Chapter Four

On a hillside near the Lincoln Memorial, a symbol of the resolve of man for freedom and dignity, a seedling broke through the fertile earth surface and stretched itself toward the sun much as the hibernating black bears first stretches after a long winter of sleep. This little plant may have been laying dormant in that spot since god knows when, but if there is a god and he (or even she)knows when, then the question is why such a plant would be allowed to survive. On the other hand, perhaps the seedling journeyed to Earth as a hitchhiker on a roving meteor or comet. In the end (not even a phrase that I want to use), it didn't matter where the seed came from but only whether the growth of this rainbow colored plant with its cable like vines and tempting sweet fruit can be contained and eventually destroyed before the District then the eastern seaboard then North America and eventually the entire world is choked by this intruder.

To be continued - maybe

Life as a Juxapositional Paradox

The following entry was written on August 29, but is being posted today (as I have returned to Boston).

Inspired by and at Lazy Jane's
Most is written as a creative writing exercise, but there remains the seeds for future thoughts.

While eating at Lazy Jane's in Madison, Wisconsin, I sat next to a lady who looked as if in her earlier days she had lived a hippy-like existence. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a bun, but much of it had escaped the captivity of the hairband and straggled forth in every direction like vines in a garden.

Her plate was balanced with ease on her lap without the help of her red freckled hands with the bluish veins pushing at the tautly pulled skin. The plate itself was filled to overflowing with a multitude of foods of various textures and earth-tone colors. At the center, surrounded by a wealth of crisp looking sauteed vegetables and golden brown potatoes streaked with dark brown black lines, rested the bun acting as a temporary protective coating for the treat that rested within - the vegetable burger that I had asked about when ordering my own meal wondering which vegetarian meal I should choose to satiate my appetite that was raging from the seeming emptiness of my stomach. I had chosen another main course, but my interest in the veggie burger did not wane and so I asked the aging former hippy lady for her thoughts about the vegetarian delight on her plate. She looked up at me with resolve and conviction, and stated without hesitation that the Lazy Jane veggie burger was in a class of its own but, since was no longer a vegetarian, she improved the taste by adding strips of crispy fat oozing bacon making it a bacon veggie burger, a true juxapositional paradox.

These words ("juxapositional paradox") probably are not used in a proper manner or in a way that makes sense given their precise meanings, but I like both words in terms of the texture of their sounds and their individual sense.

Thought of the Day: In life, there are many of these bacon-veggie burger situations, the juxtapositions and paradoxal times or events that do not seem to fit together but which sometimes, like the added flavor of the bacon, improve the original. In the end, to get the benefits of these paradoxes and juxtapositions, we have to be willing to experiment and will to accept that which is not familar to us.