Folks all seem to have fascinating stories to tell if I take time to focus and listen. This week I had the opportunity to relish some from seasoned folks that really are intriguing. Most of the folks consider themselves to be quite “ordinary” but to me they’re special. One especially struck a chord with me.
My wife and I just spent over an hour with a special diminutive eighty-five year old Japanese/American lady. Her big bright eyes conveyed a “lost puppy” look as the story of her World War Two interment unfolded. She told of reading a posting on a telephone pole in her hometown of Stockton, California that stated that she and all other Japanese/Americans must report to a processing station the following day. She started to speak of a childhood pet left behind but her voice trailed off to the point I couldn’t understand her. From the central collection point she and her family were herded on trains that whisked them away to the hills of far off Arkansas. While in transit they were told to keep the train windows shades down especially when they were in stations. One of her friends disregarded the instructions and opened the window to wave to folks in the station. Her face registered a special grimace when she conveyed the looks and comments that their Asian features prompted. The agony was especially acute because there was no recognition that she and her family were second and third generation American citizens. She amazingly spoke with no malice of the three “lost” years spend in remote Arkansas. In fact, she was grateful to have been courted in the camp by her late husband of sixty years and to ultimately be awarded her “lost” high school diploma when she returned to California. Unfortunately, there were no inclination to hire these returning citizens and life was austere for quite some time.
I asked if she had visited Japan. She told of visiting Nagasaki, the site of the atomic bombing not many years after the war. She spoke of meeting many Japanese citizens who with little visible bitterness told of their individual losses and pain. Almost universally they seemed to almost stoically accept this horror. When they realized that she was an American, they almost apologetically said that “the Americans must have had well founded reasons for the bombing” even though they didn’t understand them.
There is something almost magnetic about folks who have gracefully experienced extreme personal pain and spring boarded beyond it. Not that they have forgotten. A select few have permitted their hearts to be “tenderized” in a special way rather than permitting them to become tough and callous. It’s folks like this that are often used in such special ways to touch the rest of us. Not only does this seem to have a wonderful effect on the rest of us, but the effect seems to grow almost exponentially as these folks become more seasoned with time. I have no desire “to go through the fire” but can’t ignore the wonderful correlations of those that do and are “tenderized” by it. I am grateful for the pain experienced by those special folks whose lives have touched me so deeply. I want to reciprocate by using my past, present, and future pain to be sensitive to others as I’m summoned.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Titlt
While I was growing up I did virtually anything that would earn some spending money. I did gardening and cleanup projects (or almost anything else) for numerous ladies in my hometown. Before price fixing was outlawed, it didn’t dawn on me that it was no coincidence that they all paid me the same rate and never competed for my services. I caddied at our local country club and later did almost anything needed to help the Pro run the Pro Shop. I sold gladiola flowers, greeting cards, and virtually anything else that could be sold to make a few dollars. I worked for a caterer and our local country club food service manager. I passed papers for twenty-five cents a day. I think you get the picture.
Other than buying a “ham” amateur radio outfit and the bicycle needed for my paper route almost all of my liquid assets unfortunately were invested in a local emporium (adults called it a “hangout”) called the Blue Diamond. Some of the money went toward fountain cherry cokes and the rest was largely invested a nickel at a time in pinball machines in the back. I invested enough to “master” each of the machines and rack up winning games but somehow always left broke. The secret to scoring points was to be able to shake the machine enough to get the metal balls to go where you needed them to go. Unfortunately they installed a “tilt” mechanism in the machines to foil folks like me and keep me “honest.” A bit too much “body English” finessing the machine would activate a mechanism that would end the game prematurely with a big illuminated sign saying “TILT” for all to see.
Today I thought of those days of old. My wife and I were in a huge hot tub full of bubbling 34 degree Celsius (93.2 Fahrenheit) bubbling water. We were oblivious to the air temperature hovering in the mid-thirty degrees range. Our little world just off the coast of Newfoundland consists of perhaps a thousand gallons of artificially heated bliss perching 13 decks above the rolling Atlantic Ocean. The ocean temperature is a chilly fifty-six degrees and dropping. I have no thoughts or interest in anything about the ocean even thought its depth and breadth exponentially dwarf our little Shangri-la.
That all changed dramatically as our ship started to roll navigating through the seven and a half to twelve foot swells far below us. Suddenly our hot tub went into a “tilt” posture and water started flowing out of one side and then the other in a rhythmic fluid motion. I had no choice but to acknowledge there was a whole huge “real” world with awesome depth and power outside my little hide away. No longer could I be oblivious to the depth, breadth and currents of an enormous ocean extending thousands of miles beyond my little floating hot tub. Kind of reminds me of how oblivious I can be to a world of over six billion folks till it “tilts” my comfortable little cocoon perched high “above it.” It’s amazing how far I’ll go to partition out all “distractions” and create a little euphoric “bubbling” bliss. Invariably things “tilt” to bring me back to a real perspective. Sometimes it’s sudden attacks or other outrageous actions but invariably that sea of folks and their power and dynamics gets my shocked attention. Guess I wasn’t designed to obliviously create and control my own little world with no regard for everyone else. Perhaps that’s why there always seems to be a “tilt” to cause me to restart from a new expanded perspective.
Other than buying a “ham” amateur radio outfit and the bicycle needed for my paper route almost all of my liquid assets unfortunately were invested in a local emporium (adults called it a “hangout”) called the Blue Diamond. Some of the money went toward fountain cherry cokes and the rest was largely invested a nickel at a time in pinball machines in the back. I invested enough to “master” each of the machines and rack up winning games but somehow always left broke. The secret to scoring points was to be able to shake the machine enough to get the metal balls to go where you needed them to go. Unfortunately they installed a “tilt” mechanism in the machines to foil folks like me and keep me “honest.” A bit too much “body English” finessing the machine would activate a mechanism that would end the game prematurely with a big illuminated sign saying “TILT” for all to see.
Today I thought of those days of old. My wife and I were in a huge hot tub full of bubbling 34 degree Celsius (93.2 Fahrenheit) bubbling water. We were oblivious to the air temperature hovering in the mid-thirty degrees range. Our little world just off the coast of Newfoundland consists of perhaps a thousand gallons of artificially heated bliss perching 13 decks above the rolling Atlantic Ocean. The ocean temperature is a chilly fifty-six degrees and dropping. I have no thoughts or interest in anything about the ocean even thought its depth and breadth exponentially dwarf our little Shangri-la.
That all changed dramatically as our ship started to roll navigating through the seven and a half to twelve foot swells far below us. Suddenly our hot tub went into a “tilt” posture and water started flowing out of one side and then the other in a rhythmic fluid motion. I had no choice but to acknowledge there was a whole huge “real” world with awesome depth and power outside my little hide away. No longer could I be oblivious to the depth, breadth and currents of an enormous ocean extending thousands of miles beyond my little floating hot tub. Kind of reminds me of how oblivious I can be to a world of over six billion folks till it “tilts” my comfortable little cocoon perched high “above it.” It’s amazing how far I’ll go to partition out all “distractions” and create a little euphoric “bubbling” bliss. Invariably things “tilt” to bring me back to a real perspective. Sometimes it’s sudden attacks or other outrageous actions but invariably that sea of folks and their power and dynamics gets my shocked attention. Guess I wasn’t designed to obliviously create and control my own little world with no regard for everyone else. Perhaps that’s why there always seems to be a “tilt” to cause me to restart from a new expanded perspective.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Bucks
Sorry to get your hopes up—this isn’t about money. This morning two magnificent Whitetail bucks (male deer) posed like statues in our front yard. They strutted to perhaps twenty yards from the kitchen table where I am writing. After a few minutes (just short of my getting pictures), they vanished into the beautiful autumn splendor of a small adjacent wooded area. What a thrill!
Deer are quite common in our area and it seems they are getting more so each year. Last evening while driving, I had to stop once (and be cautious several other times) because of deer crossing country roads. I often see deer in the fields down the street, especially at dusk and dawn. When we sit in the solitude of our darkened back yard during the summer months we often see deer silhouetted against surrounding lighting as they glide along the perimeter of our yard.
What is uncommon is to see a huge buck (and especially two) at eleven o’clock in the morning in this suburban setting. These were not just any bucks; they looked like Cabela’s trophy displays. I haven’t been a hunter since my early teen years but I had that same burst of excitement. I never saw anything remotely like these magnificent bucks back then. (I guess I can safely use the term hunter because I know it’s proper to call yourself a shopper when you never buy anything!)
This is a season when wildlife is on the move. Yesterday I trudged up a rocky local mountain trail (a hill to you Rocky Mountain folks) to get a glimpse of migrating raptors (birds of prey). I didn’t see any although one gent came down from the same spot and reported to my wife he’d seen four Bald Eagles. I would have traded the two bucks and a few other things to see them. I did see a scavenging chipmunk, if that counts.
As I write now, I see squirrels busy retrieving walnuts and chestnuts to bury in my lawn. The resident groundhog sequestered under the shed in our backyard is now quite plump. He’d be at the high end of the obesity scale if they had a height/weight chart for groundhogs. A large hawk came to within about fifty feet of the kitchen window before he flared and decided to abort his kamikaze dive for some unseen prey. I look forward to offering my wife a dinner of a few overly hungry trout as a result of their seasonal feeding frenzy. Nature is on the move.
It is quite evident fish, fowl, and varieties of creatures are sensitive to unseen forces and respond in various ways without hesitation. Many throw caution to the wind, sometimes to their detriment. Perhaps most apparent are those “brave” bucks that have abandoned any sense of caution to make their appearance in a community of potential hunters. I am sure that there is a “mamma” doe that spent many patient hours teaching them to be extremely cautious, now all to no avail. Unbeknownst to them, there is a pretty high probability that they may be within weeks of their mortality. You see it is no coincidence that hunting season is scheduled when their testosterone is at its peak and they become the most macho. Soon they’ll be sparring with those magnificent six and eight point racks to show their individual prowess. They think their fight is against each other. Their single mindedness in pursuing their own agendas sadly makes them extremely vulnerable.
The whole process reminds me of how vulnerable I am when I respond to some of my most compelling human instincts. I am inclined to step out to handle things on my own because “it feels like the right thing to do” and “I can handle it.” My vulnerability can be deceivingly hidden in this season of life because I am finally “mature” and “seasoned.” Perhaps I should keep in mind that there are new hidden perils. A yearling “spike buck” never seems to end up being taken to the taxidermist for mounting.
Deer are quite common in our area and it seems they are getting more so each year. Last evening while driving, I had to stop once (and be cautious several other times) because of deer crossing country roads. I often see deer in the fields down the street, especially at dusk and dawn. When we sit in the solitude of our darkened back yard during the summer months we often see deer silhouetted against surrounding lighting as they glide along the perimeter of our yard.
What is uncommon is to see a huge buck (and especially two) at eleven o’clock in the morning in this suburban setting. These were not just any bucks; they looked like Cabela’s trophy displays. I haven’t been a hunter since my early teen years but I had that same burst of excitement. I never saw anything remotely like these magnificent bucks back then. (I guess I can safely use the term hunter because I know it’s proper to call yourself a shopper when you never buy anything!)
This is a season when wildlife is on the move. Yesterday I trudged up a rocky local mountain trail (a hill to you Rocky Mountain folks) to get a glimpse of migrating raptors (birds of prey). I didn’t see any although one gent came down from the same spot and reported to my wife he’d seen four Bald Eagles. I would have traded the two bucks and a few other things to see them. I did see a scavenging chipmunk, if that counts.
As I write now, I see squirrels busy retrieving walnuts and chestnuts to bury in my lawn. The resident groundhog sequestered under the shed in our backyard is now quite plump. He’d be at the high end of the obesity scale if they had a height/weight chart for groundhogs. A large hawk came to within about fifty feet of the kitchen window before he flared and decided to abort his kamikaze dive for some unseen prey. I look forward to offering my wife a dinner of a few overly hungry trout as a result of their seasonal feeding frenzy. Nature is on the move.
It is quite evident fish, fowl, and varieties of creatures are sensitive to unseen forces and respond in various ways without hesitation. Many throw caution to the wind, sometimes to their detriment. Perhaps most apparent are those “brave” bucks that have abandoned any sense of caution to make their appearance in a community of potential hunters. I am sure that there is a “mamma” doe that spent many patient hours teaching them to be extremely cautious, now all to no avail. Unbeknownst to them, there is a pretty high probability that they may be within weeks of their mortality. You see it is no coincidence that hunting season is scheduled when their testosterone is at its peak and they become the most macho. Soon they’ll be sparring with those magnificent six and eight point racks to show their individual prowess. They think their fight is against each other. Their single mindedness in pursuing their own agendas sadly makes them extremely vulnerable.
The whole process reminds me of how vulnerable I am when I respond to some of my most compelling human instincts. I am inclined to step out to handle things on my own because “it feels like the right thing to do” and “I can handle it.” My vulnerability can be deceivingly hidden in this season of life because I am finally “mature” and “seasoned.” Perhaps I should keep in mind that there are new hidden perils. A yearling “spike buck” never seems to end up being taken to the taxidermist for mounting.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Aids
I will never forget the terrified look on the young lady’s face in Kolkata, India. She was gathering soiled laundry and had slipped into the room where I was sleeping. I suddenly realized someone was in the room and didn’t know where I was or the time of day. (I was still adapting to the nine and a half hour time difference.) I am much bigger than most Indians and I sleep with a masklike device connected to a machine to assist my breathing. Although I’ve never looked in the mirror while wearing the mask, I am sure I must have looked like an alien to her as she fled the room with an absolutely horrified look.
My grandson thinks the device is neat and is enraptured with Grandpa’s machine and “mask.” I myself don’t care how it looks; I am just grateful to have it. You see I had two accidents within months of getting it, both my fault, due to lack of sleep. Because of this device, my sleep apnea condition is under control and I can function normally. Over the years I have acquired many devices so I can function “normally.” I am assisted in my hearing, sight, and even have a device to assist in monitoring proper blood glucose levels. In addition, physicians have prescribed a litany of pharmaceuticals to help me function. Those devices and medications don’t even begin to compare to the folks who help me each day. That list would be huge. Let’s see: my wife and family, friends, associates, and a list like the proverbial “butcher, baker, candlestick maker.” Last, but certainly far from least, is the supernatural enabling and direction that I find so necessary for day to day life.
When I chose the title “Aids” I almost changed it because in our current societal condition most of us now associate the word differently than in the past. I have still not “shifted gears” and associate the word “Aids” with nurses, students, or things like that. (Slight variations in spelling have never bothered me!) My first thought is of a “helper” not the very real and debilitating medical condition that has seemingly hijacked the word in our minds. As I reflect, I realize that aid and assistance in general has been pushed to the background in our supposedly “self-sufficient” society. Our heroes are folks that are supposedly pillars and have “made it on their own.”
The school district that I attended (I wish I could say where I studied) was a wrestling powerhouse that generated multiple state champs; one of whom I knew well. I always felt like the sport of basketball was only for those folks who couldn’t master wrestling. For those of us who were tall but gangly, and somewhat uncoordinated, that even meant the bench and possibly playing a few closing minutes. I suspect some of us have never shifted gears from the stigmas and peer perceptions of our youth. No longer does status, sitting at the right lunch table, or having no noticeable zits establish our “value” (or lack of it).
We live in a society that is increasingly oriented to “perfect stand-alone super stars”. As a “people watcher,” I watch with amusement and then sadness as folks work their way up through the social networking in most group situations. Most seem to hopefully want to touch base with the “one-man dynamos” and “movers and shakers.” I have no problem with this. It’s just sad that all the others in the room lack value in these folk’s eyes.
I am increasingly aware of how significant my personal support system really is. I am amazed and almost embarrassed how “what I am” is not of my own doing. As I realize the contributions that others forces and folks play in what I am, it contributes to a significant shift in my thinking. I realize how honorable and noble it is to aid and enable others. Perhaps this “members of one body” stuff has merit because I can no longer “make it” without you, my family and friends (not that I ever could). A sincere “Thank you” for your aid to me.
My grandson thinks the device is neat and is enraptured with Grandpa’s machine and “mask.” I myself don’t care how it looks; I am just grateful to have it. You see I had two accidents within months of getting it, both my fault, due to lack of sleep. Because of this device, my sleep apnea condition is under control and I can function normally. Over the years I have acquired many devices so I can function “normally.” I am assisted in my hearing, sight, and even have a device to assist in monitoring proper blood glucose levels. In addition, physicians have prescribed a litany of pharmaceuticals to help me function. Those devices and medications don’t even begin to compare to the folks who help me each day. That list would be huge. Let’s see: my wife and family, friends, associates, and a list like the proverbial “butcher, baker, candlestick maker.” Last, but certainly far from least, is the supernatural enabling and direction that I find so necessary for day to day life.
When I chose the title “Aids” I almost changed it because in our current societal condition most of us now associate the word differently than in the past. I have still not “shifted gears” and associate the word “Aids” with nurses, students, or things like that. (Slight variations in spelling have never bothered me!) My first thought is of a “helper” not the very real and debilitating medical condition that has seemingly hijacked the word in our minds. As I reflect, I realize that aid and assistance in general has been pushed to the background in our supposedly “self-sufficient” society. Our heroes are folks that are supposedly pillars and have “made it on their own.”
The school district that I attended (I wish I could say where I studied) was a wrestling powerhouse that generated multiple state champs; one of whom I knew well. I always felt like the sport of basketball was only for those folks who couldn’t master wrestling. For those of us who were tall but gangly, and somewhat uncoordinated, that even meant the bench and possibly playing a few closing minutes. I suspect some of us have never shifted gears from the stigmas and peer perceptions of our youth. No longer does status, sitting at the right lunch table, or having no noticeable zits establish our “value” (or lack of it).
We live in a society that is increasingly oriented to “perfect stand-alone super stars”. As a “people watcher,” I watch with amusement and then sadness as folks work their way up through the social networking in most group situations. Most seem to hopefully want to touch base with the “one-man dynamos” and “movers and shakers.” I have no problem with this. It’s just sad that all the others in the room lack value in these folk’s eyes.
I am increasingly aware of how significant my personal support system really is. I am amazed and almost embarrassed how “what I am” is not of my own doing. As I realize the contributions that others forces and folks play in what I am, it contributes to a significant shift in my thinking. I realize how honorable and noble it is to aid and enable others. Perhaps this “members of one body” stuff has merit because I can no longer “make it” without you, my family and friends (not that I ever could). A sincere “Thank you” for your aid to me.
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