Some Things You Can't Write

In the old days journals were private writings that only the writer read. They were used for all sorts of things but were considered private and sacrosanct. Blog postings are a kind of journal for the modern age, but are public rather than private. Care should be taken to be sure that what is written is accurate, and if remarks are hurtful or mean-spirited the writer better be ready to take the heat. It's easy to rail about politics and political correctness. It's easy to poke fun at anomymus people and events. It's easy to reflect on a life well or badly lived. But a fair number of essays are written as drafts or in the head and then discarded in favor of civility. Publicly lashing out at the President for something is OK, but don't lash out at your boss publically. Talking about an old roommate who had a big and funny nose is OK, but don't describe your best friend in unflattering terms. See what I mean?

I love writing these little essays that range over "Woodys World" high and low. To anyone interested in someday putting thoughts on "paper" and hanging them out for the world to see I say this: Editing is more important than writing. Write it; let it rest; read it; edit it; let it rest; read it again. If you still want everybody to read it THEN publish. Saves a lot of grief in the long run to be somewhat circumspect about what you say publically.

By the way, this goes for Facebook too.

Image: http://coachcreativespace.ning.com/groups/group/show?groupUrl=journeyofjournals

Significant Others

Don’t you just love to hate the term “significant other”? Code for what exactly? I suppose if you go back to the dark ages of the 70’s and early 80’s this was a person with whom you were probably “living in sin” or close to it but didn’t qualify for the appellation husband or wife. In those days the majority assumption was that the “other” was indeed the other sex from yours. Gays also used the term to indicate a solid relationship and for many the assumption of “other” obscured the sex of the partner. The term sort of settled into meaning anyone someone was committed to in a relationship and marrieds used it to indicate their spouse.
I have never been comfortable with the limitations of the above. To me, significant others are all sorts of people that are a significant part of a life. Siblings, cousins, best friends. Not the milkman (OK Barbara: Milk person) or bag person at the grocery store though. Not close enough.
Then on the scene comes the term “life partner”, used mostly by Gays that have been denied the right of Marriage. I like the term “partner” more than spouse, though. Partnership carries with it a demonstrable sharing of responsibilities and resources whereas spouseship is a vague and slippery condition. I like the sound of “partner”, and having a life partner is a wonderful thing. Having a wife or husband that is also a partner and best friend is just plain wonderful. And this combination should be available to everybody.
Today the terms for someone that shares your life on a more or less permanent basis are numerous and somewhat fluid, but all convey a kind of permanence. Although it is easy enough to do-si-do your way through life changing partners with every dance, I see this as a road with a gloomy and lonely end.
So grab your partner and get out on the floor of life and dance until dawn. Then dance until dusk. (For an additional treat go to the link below and read about the DIY parade and look at all the photos. Life as it should be.)
Image: www.indybay.org/newsitems/2008/01/04/18470067.php

Don’t Forget to Smell the Roses

I got an email this morning telling of an old friend whose mother just died. I didn’t know her, but knew she was ailing. So no surprise. I also got an email from a colleague who is working on fall scheduling. These do not appear to be related in any sense other than they both arrived this morning But they are and here is how: they both serve to remind all of us that time moves on and life is short. On the one hand, the passing of a dear friend or relative is a direct reminder of mortality and the shortness of this experience called “life”. On the other, working more or less all the time leads to an accelerated journey to the end of life without time for reflection, relaxation or “loving time”.
You know the old line: He worked right up to the day he died. To which I say “bullshit”. Sure, I still work some. I love my students and colleagues, and never want to be totally without them. But I look forward to down time and quiet time and reflective time, and time to putz around where ever. To anybody that reads this I have this advice that is neither new nor profound: take time to smell the roses before they fade and wither. Take a little time out of the day/week/month/year/life for yourself and your partner or family or friends. Put another way and quoting Tracy Ullman: “Go home”.

Image: sudoku.com.au

Sad Sack: Las Vegas Four

People were spread out around the casino. Some were playing Black Jack or a variation, some were at the Craps table and some at the Roulette table. Mostly they were having fun, whooping when someone won and moaning when someone lost. But definitely an air of fun.
Then there were the Slot Machines. Many folks slouched in the chairs that go with each machine, cigarette smoldering in hand or ashtray, drink nearby and a defeated look on their faces. They pushed the buttons again and again and seemed to find no joy at all. You have to wonder about these “sad sacks”. Las Vegas is a holiday destination that is supposed to be fun. I had fun. I saw lots of people having fun. But not at the slots. It seemed like these players were down to their last chance, and losing.
I could be wrong, but it looked like the atmosphere of defeat hung around them like a fog. I had planned to spend a bit of time on the slots myself, but after seeing the company, walked away.

www.diggerhistory.info/pages-asstd/comics.htm

Las Vegas Three

It started as anxiety, and then quickly changed into alarm, then to pure pleasure. Sound like something interesting? You bet it was interesting. My first helicopter ride was an unbelievable experience. This was no ordinary ride around the beach front or up and over some county fair somewhere. We went over desert, up over mountains (lowish, but damn they looked tall from above) and then, drum roll, into the GRAND CANYON. First over, then into.
Anxiety began to build the day before the ride. I can’t stand heights or edges. Even standing on a second floor balcony I usually hold on to the railing. Tall buildings? I don’t even like to look down from a window. So this ride posed some scary scenarios. The day arrived and the trip was delayed. More anxiety. We finally sat in a small “theater” and watched the safety film. Seat belt, water landing, fire, DEATH at every turn. Then onto the tarmac, into the bird and the jet starts to whine. I sat on the outside by the door that was one sheet of Perspex (or some kind of plastic) and could look almost straight down ---- a long way down.
The rotor turns slowly and anxiety turns into alarm. Am I actually going up in this plastic and tin can? The rotor begins to really move and suddenly we lift a foot or so off the ground and spin slowly. Man, this is beginning to be cool, not scary. Then the pilot (a child really) moved the controls and off we went. Up and forward, gaining altitude and speed. There wasn’t time to stay alarmed or scared or worry about the fact that only ¼ inch of plastic and a belt was between me and a long fall. There was too much to see! It was just plain pleasure. Fun. Exciting. Glorious. We cruised over the desert and mountains to the end of the Grand Canyon, and flew up over the rim. Then, we dropped about 1500 feet below the rim and cruised around inside, looking at the sides, the river, the --- everything!!
Because we got a late start, we flew west back to Las Vegas as the sun set and by the time we got there it was dark, and the “strip” was ablaze with lights. Treat after treat after treat. When we landed I realized that there was never a moment of anything but awe and wonder the whole time. No fear or anxiety or even airsickness (the pill might have helped here). I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Thanks Sue and Bob for a wonderful experience.
Image: www.partner.viator.com/en/2511/search/3422_G02

Las Vegas Two

Next day we went to a real Las Vegas “Show Girl” show. Feathers, costumes of magnificent design, the Titanic sinking, Samson and Delilah, dancers, singers, extremely strong men, rope/rock twirlers, and breasts. Lots of bare breasts. Now here is where this gets interesting so if you don’t like breasts stop reading. I have always liked breasts and this show with perhaps 20 or 25 topless (most of the time) young women dancers was amazing. Not sleazy pole dancing or striping. Only Show Girls showing wonderful young and lithe bodies. No tattoos, no piercing visible. The variation of breasts was astonishing even to a mature (don’t ask my children about this) biologist. Even my wife mentioned the vast differences. And all beautiful. There was an equal number of “topped” women dancers and they were equal in talent and beauty in all regards.
I have a very difficult time understanding why this important part of the female anatomy is villianized and conceived of as shameful by certain groups. So, back to the interesting part: after a few minutes of being draw to the breasts, the view widened and the show became a whole piece of work, with some woman topless, some not, some men topless, some not. The bare breasts were noticeable but in the context of the action, not as objet d’art, but as part of the costume in a sense. These dancers and singers were very good at their art, and with or without tops would have been good at their art. So why topless? Brings in the tourists. Why big strong men? Brings in the tourists. Why feathers? Same again.
Everyone should see one of these extravaganzas once in their life. Not for the breasts, though they are lovely to see, but as a whole work of theater. Definitely worth the price.
http://www.destination360.com/north-america/us/nevada/las-vegas/las-vegas-show-girls

Las Vegas One

We checked into the Hotel (a giant pyramid). The next morning we took a drive out into the Mohave Desert to Red Rock Canyon. Guess why it’s called that? Yup. Red sandstone. Lots of it. And beautiful desert plants mostly in spring flower. This is the perfect time of year for desert flowers as luck would have it. A rattle snake, a jumping rat of some kind, some pictographs, a discussion with a ranger on invasive grasses and control burns, and old sandstone quarry, some folks (nuts in my opinion) repelling (abseiling for Europeans) face down. Everything you could ask for in a 13 mile drive. Oh, and my “Senior” pass got us in for free. What a treat.
Image: www.lvlg.com/lasvegas/attracts/parks.htm

Moving Day

Matt is graduating Friday. PhD. The second one in the family. Sally was first. Both of mine should have been second and third, but I walked away from them, unfinished. Not the best decision I ever made, but far from the worst. Matt and his husband are off to Oregon for another chapter in their lives. The challenges of a new job, new town, and new friends will be significant, but they are up to the challenge.
Hal and his wife moved into a new house a week or two ago. They are opening up another chapter of their lives, albeit not as big a chapter as Matt’s and they, too, are up to the challenge.
Sal and I are staying put. Right here. Going nowhere. Well, that doesn’t sound good, does it? We are not going to MOVE again, until it’s time for the dirt nap. I am glad the kids (Effie: Oh Kids!! [Sigh loudly]) are moving around and finding new places to light. I think the price paid for this pelagic kind of lifestyle, though, is a paucity of new friends that become old friends. So my advice to them and anyone in the same circumstance is: One: Try to stay in the same place for at least 25 years. Two: keep in touch with your old friends and try to find a few good new friends. The kind that stick with you no matter what. And be that kind of friend yourself. And finally, stay close with the family. And don’t forget to send money to your parents when they get old. They deserve it and you can afford it.
Image: photobucket.com/.../MovingDay.jpg

News of a Death Today

The email said” Just wanted to let you know that Ben died on April 12th by his own decision. All of us who knew him will miss the Ben we knew.” The guy I knew was a guy you would want to know. This guy had it all, but was bent in some significant way that made him doomed in the end to fail. Educated, polished, easy to talk to and smart. Intelligent too. He went to jail early and redefined himself a few times afterwards. He made it to a Presidency at a State University, and by some measures did well. But his fatal flaw, I guess, couldn’t be overcome. I don’t know how it ended for him. But I do know this: He left a lot of pain behind, both for himself and those who loved him. We will get together some day and talk of him, laugh a little and cry or be sad a little. Most of us moved on long ago, but never forgot him.
I have no belief in an afterlife so I don’t believe Ben will “get his Just Dessert”. What he got, finally, is peace. So rest in peace old friend. I won’t be seeing you any time in the future, but will think of you from time to time, and that is the most anyone can ask for. I’ll focus on the wine, laughs and discussions. Others will remember what they will. And remember this:
"Life is short.
Drink the good wine first"

Image: http://www.jjchandler.com/tombstone

A Drivers Tale.

Ok. I’m writing this so I am not dead. But an inch and a second is all the difference there was between life and death. Here are a few details: Picture a straight 2 lane road in Waukulla County. I am traveling south at 50mph with no traffic in my lane ahead of me. Traveling north is a line of cars. Three down from the lead northbound car a guy (wait, you’ll see) in a blue sedan pulls out and tries to pass all three cars ahead of him. He doesn’t have the power to make it. Meanwhile I see that I am closing with the north bound car too fast for the passer to make it. I slow down and begin to move right to give the passer room to pass on my left. The north bound car does the same. The guy now has enough room to pass. We have effectively turned the road into a tight 3 lanes. But, as I move right, the passer moves to his left and keeps heading directly at my grill. Time to make a decision by someone; I put two wheels onto the shoulder making more room in the middle for the guy to pass. The northbound car does the same. Plenty of room now to complete the pass, but the guy keeps coming straight at me. At the last possible second I debate swerving right, but I remember that that is the best way to lose control of the vehicle. In that same instant the asshole in the blue car (oops, did I give way to angst?) swerves hard to his left and passes me in the ditch on my right, slides sideways, spins and ends up back end up a bank. I see his face as he passes. He is laughing. He passed me by INCHES!!!! If I had moved even slightly right -----
What is the point of this tale? It’s really simple: never forget to tell those you love that you love them, and live every day like it is your last. Yesterday it almost was, and who knows about today?
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