The Saturday before Christmas I woke up. I showered, got dressed and sat down to my morning coffee and newspaper. During the course of my second cup I read my horoscope. I will paraphrase it here as follows:
"Your partner may not seem able to get up and go this morning. Try to encourage them to pick up the pace. It might be tempting to let them rest while you take up the slack, but you are not a team if you do all the work. Work on your motivational skills. They will respect you for having the right priorities."
I then read my wife's horoscope:
"If you feel like you are in the thick of things, you are right. But the good news is, you are the calm of the storm, the place where everything is quiet and serene. Of course, the time is coming soon when you will be forced to take to your shelter and hide out from the tumult around you. Resist the urge to fight back or brave the harsh elements. You need to live by the motto of 'safety first' if you want to get through the action without any stress. "
I saw these two horoscopes as two opposing views. My wife said it sounded like Christmas shopping. I gave up and ignored my horoscope. I kind of got the feeling that the stars were trying to pick a fight between my wife and myself.
We went shopping the next day. We went our own separate ways and were done by 11PM. She was done, I went out on Monday. It is kind of a tradition for me. I believe shopping on Monday takes all the 'shopping' or decisions out of it. Basically, everything is by then all picked over and you just take what is left. No decisions. They are already made for you. Just pick up what is left and you are done. Real easy.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Some late night ramblings
Sandy Cash's cover of Peter Jones's "Kilkelly"
I remember the first time I heard the song. It is such a hauntingly beautiful song. It tears at my heart every time I hear it. Sandy Cash is such a talented singer. But this song is just such a beautiful story. So wonderfully written that I can picture the 40 years that it covers.
I was listening to it tonight and then I got distracted to other similar songs. Before I knew it I was here for an hour. But I find that this music lifts my spirit. I started listening to some other favorites. But I came back to "kilkelly". It reminds me of the importance of family. And it reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago about my family and our reunions. I will add that here:
"From a little ball of twine.
Every five years or so my family has a reunion. A lot of families do that. My dad had 5 brothers and 5 sisters. I have 18 aunts and uncles. Through the course of lives and deaths, I also have 38 cousins and 7 step cousins. And, of course, I am related to all their kids. I will not bore you with any more numbers. When we get together, there are a lot of us. At the last reunion we had over 130 attendees. And this is only part of the family.
We have a lot of fun at our reunions. But the most fun we have is the traditional rope making contest. My dad and his siblings grew up during the depression and on the farm they couldn't always afford new rope each season. During the winter it would not get used much and would dry out. So every year they had a need for new rope. My dad told me that they would lay the rope out in front of the barn in kind of a basket. On that basket they would stack hay and then using a pulley system to hoist that hay into the barn. They always needed rope of various lengths.
Over the course of the years the family has actually found several depression era rope machines. These machines are hand held machines and take several people to operate. One person is the cranker. He sits at one end and turns the handle. There is also a person at the other end who holds the end of the rope around a holder shaped like a 'Y'. Depending on the length of the rope, anywhere from 5 to 10 people would stand along the length of the rope to make sure that the errant strands of twine do not get tangled.
Unfortunately, I don't have one of those machines. I have been looking. I will try to describe it. On the fixed end, attached to the crank are the gears and essentially four claws. On the other end is the handle. The twine from which the rope is made, is wrapped around the handle and then stretched to the other end and wrapped around a claw on the fixed end. This is repeated until the desired thickness of the rope is achieved. When the twine is attached it is tied off and then the cranking begins.
It is really quite a process. The cranker starts turning the handle and the strands of twine start twist and to tighten up. The ten, or so, people along the line keep the errant strands from tangling up with each other. Once the strands of twine are tightly wound the actual twisting of the rope takes place and the guy at the end slowly starts to walk to the crank, twisting the strands of twine into a rope as he goes.
Our reunions are very structured and we usually reserve two afternoons for the making of rope. We can make about 15 ropes in an afternoon. We make sure that anyone who wants a rope gets one. The last reunion that we went to my daughter got a jump rope and I got this one. It is the one event that I really look forward to at our reunions."
Good night for now.
D.
I remember the first time I heard the song. It is such a hauntingly beautiful song. It tears at my heart every time I hear it. Sandy Cash is such a talented singer. But this song is just such a beautiful story. So wonderfully written that I can picture the 40 years that it covers.
I was listening to it tonight and then I got distracted to other similar songs. Before I knew it I was here for an hour. But I find that this music lifts my spirit. I started listening to some other favorites. But I came back to "kilkelly". It reminds me of the importance of family. And it reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago about my family and our reunions. I will add that here:
"From a little ball of twine.
Every five years or so my family has a reunion. A lot of families do that. My dad had 5 brothers and 5 sisters. I have 18 aunts and uncles. Through the course of lives and deaths, I also have 38 cousins and 7 step cousins. And, of course, I am related to all their kids. I will not bore you with any more numbers. When we get together, there are a lot of us. At the last reunion we had over 130 attendees. And this is only part of the family.
We have a lot of fun at our reunions. But the most fun we have is the traditional rope making contest. My dad and his siblings grew up during the depression and on the farm they couldn't always afford new rope each season. During the winter it would not get used much and would dry out. So every year they had a need for new rope. My dad told me that they would lay the rope out in front of the barn in kind of a basket. On that basket they would stack hay and then using a pulley system to hoist that hay into the barn. They always needed rope of various lengths.
Over the course of the years the family has actually found several depression era rope machines. These machines are hand held machines and take several people to operate. One person is the cranker. He sits at one end and turns the handle. There is also a person at the other end who holds the end of the rope around a holder shaped like a 'Y'. Depending on the length of the rope, anywhere from 5 to 10 people would stand along the length of the rope to make sure that the errant strands of twine do not get tangled.
Unfortunately, I don't have one of those machines. I have been looking. I will try to describe it. On the fixed end, attached to the crank are the gears and essentially four claws. On the other end is the handle. The twine from which the rope is made, is wrapped around the handle and then stretched to the other end and wrapped around a claw on the fixed end. This is repeated until the desired thickness of the rope is achieved. When the twine is attached it is tied off and then the cranking begins.
It is really quite a process. The cranker starts turning the handle and the strands of twine start twist and to tighten up. The ten, or so, people along the line keep the errant strands from tangling up with each other. Once the strands of twine are tightly wound the actual twisting of the rope takes place and the guy at the end slowly starts to walk to the crank, twisting the strands of twine into a rope as he goes.
Our reunions are very structured and we usually reserve two afternoons for the making of rope. We can make about 15 ropes in an afternoon. We make sure that anyone who wants a rope gets one. The last reunion that we went to my daughter got a jump rope and I got this one. It is the one event that I really look forward to at our reunions."
Good night for now.
D.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Our Christmas Tree
To my niece
Our Christmas tree is decorated by tradition. I was single, living alone in 1986 when my niece (my sister-in-law) sent five dollars for me to buy a small tree. She was three and her mother wanted me to have a tree. I wasn't going to celebrate. It was too much work and I was alone in my apartment...what was the point? But discourage a three year old? Not me. I used her money and bought a small tree. She sent me one ornament. It was cute.
My sister heard about it and sent me a small collection of ornaments. We still have them. The next year I had a fiance. She moved in with me and we bought a slightly larger tree. Her girlfriends and cousins each sent a new ornament to go on our tree. A year later our daughter was born. We recieved a lot of baby's first Christmas ornaments and others.
The next year more ornaments sent to us. In the twenty Christmases we have been together we have received many ornaments from friends. I don't believe we have ever bought an ornament for our tree. The spirit of giving decorates our trees. I marvel at our gifts. We are truly blessed. There is a story behind each of our ornaments. There is a story of love and friendship. I love its spirit. I marvel at its life. I am truly amazed each year.
D.
Our Christmas tree is decorated by tradition. I was single, living alone in 1986 when my niece (my sister-in-law) sent five dollars for me to buy a small tree. She was three and her mother wanted me to have a tree. I wasn't going to celebrate. It was too much work and I was alone in my apartment...what was the point? But discourage a three year old? Not me. I used her money and bought a small tree. She sent me one ornament. It was cute.
My sister heard about it and sent me a small collection of ornaments. We still have them. The next year I had a fiance. She moved in with me and we bought a slightly larger tree. Her girlfriends and cousins each sent a new ornament to go on our tree. A year later our daughter was born. We recieved a lot of baby's first Christmas ornaments and others.
The next year more ornaments sent to us. In the twenty Christmases we have been together we have received many ornaments from friends. I don't believe we have ever bought an ornament for our tree. The spirit of giving decorates our trees. I marvel at our gifts. We are truly blessed. There is a story behind each of our ornaments. There is a story of love and friendship. I love its spirit. I marvel at its life. I am truly amazed each year.
D.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
A Rainy Day
When I turned 20 a friend of my family gave me some advice. We were sitting at a family barbecue and just talking. I was about ready to move out on my own. I had a job and was moving across the country to California. I would be on my own for the first time in my life. I was working and living at home. I was paying off some bills and obligations. This gentleman was a great family friend. We had known Charlie and his wife for ten years and he had watched my brothers and sisters and I all grow up. But now I had the opportunity to go out on my own.
Charlie was an older gentleman who had been working for a great many years. I think he was almost ready to retire then. This was thirty years ago. I remember his advice like it was yesterday. It was the best advice I had ever been given. Too bad it took me 15 years to take it. Charlie told me that no matter how much money I make or don’t make, "Pay yourself first". Charlie said that that could take many different forms. But the most important thing was to "pay yourself first."
That advice was always in the back of my mind as I packed all my belongings in the back of my Ford pickup and moved to Lake Tahoe. I found a nice little motel room that I could rent by the month. I think the rent was $155 a month. I had bought my truck from a dealer and was paying about $120 a month on the payment. I was making $5 bucks an hour for a full-time job but I wasn’t too sure what I could afford. I had maybe $600 in my pocket. I had to make expenses each month. And I had to have money left over to live. I WAS living in Lake Tahoe. "Pay yourself first." Very good advice.
After six months in Tahoe I had made enough friends to find a couple of roommates. We moved into a house together and I started saving money. I eventually saved enough money to go back to college. I could save money when I had a distinct goal in mind but saving on a regular basis for a rainy day, that was a different story.
I have tried to convince my children that saving for a rainy day is the best thing to do but I don’t know if it has sunk in. I told my daughter when she started working that she should save a little bit of every pay check. I think I used the words "pay yourself first". But todays world is an expensive place. Even the price of gas eats up most of her paycheck. I know she is managing to save some money, though.
I give my son money to take care of the yard. From the looks of the yard you would think I am saving money. I have to get on his case several times before the rake moves from the garage but he does ok. He does his chores and he gets compensated for it. He wants a new skateboard and I think he is saving up for a banjo (of all things). He may get there.
I have learned to save for a "rainy day". I am now saving for retirement. I am paying myself first. I am very thankful that it is was made easier with all the IRA’s and 401k’s out there now. And the auto deductions from work are fantastic. The only thing that worries me is that I hope my retirement is not really rainy days. Please throw some sunshine in there too.
Thanks Charlie.
David
Charlie was an older gentleman who had been working for a great many years. I think he was almost ready to retire then. This was thirty years ago. I remember his advice like it was yesterday. It was the best advice I had ever been given. Too bad it took me 15 years to take it. Charlie told me that no matter how much money I make or don’t make, "Pay yourself first". Charlie said that that could take many different forms. But the most important thing was to "pay yourself first."
That advice was always in the back of my mind as I packed all my belongings in the back of my Ford pickup and moved to Lake Tahoe. I found a nice little motel room that I could rent by the month. I think the rent was $155 a month. I had bought my truck from a dealer and was paying about $120 a month on the payment. I was making $5 bucks an hour for a full-time job but I wasn’t too sure what I could afford. I had maybe $600 in my pocket. I had to make expenses each month. And I had to have money left over to live. I WAS living in Lake Tahoe. "Pay yourself first." Very good advice.
After six months in Tahoe I had made enough friends to find a couple of roommates. We moved into a house together and I started saving money. I eventually saved enough money to go back to college. I could save money when I had a distinct goal in mind but saving on a regular basis for a rainy day, that was a different story.
I have tried to convince my children that saving for a rainy day is the best thing to do but I don’t know if it has sunk in. I told my daughter when she started working that she should save a little bit of every pay check. I think I used the words "pay yourself first". But todays world is an expensive place. Even the price of gas eats up most of her paycheck. I know she is managing to save some money, though.
I give my son money to take care of the yard. From the looks of the yard you would think I am saving money. I have to get on his case several times before the rake moves from the garage but he does ok. He does his chores and he gets compensated for it. He wants a new skateboard and I think he is saving up for a banjo (of all things). He may get there.
I have learned to save for a "rainy day". I am now saving for retirement. I am paying myself first. I am very thankful that it is was made easier with all the IRA’s and 401k’s out there now. And the auto deductions from work are fantastic. The only thing that worries me is that I hope my retirement is not really rainy days. Please throw some sunshine in there too.
Thanks Charlie.
David
Friday, December 14, 2007
Best Laid Plans
I was recently reminded of an event that occurred while I was living in Lake Tahoe. Someone once said to me that it can snow in every month of the year in Lake Tahoe. That was made evident one particular July Fourth. I was on my way to work and had just parked my car in the employees parking lot of one of the large casinos. It was a cold day out and the wind was blowing. I was walking with my then girlfriend and we met another co-worker also on his way to work. The clouds had just started to sprinkle the area again with some light snow. This was a continuance of the light snow that had been dropping all day. We noticed a little squirrel scammering around the parking lot between the cars. He would find a small pine cone and quickly scurry towards a tree. He looked nervous. Which may have been my own interpretation of his situation. Here it was July. The last snows just melted three months ago and now it was snowing again. What this squirrel must have thought at this new snow fall. I pictured him as nervously thinking that winter had arrived and he wasn't ready. I saw the panic in his face as he looked for food. I got a little chuckle out of this. I wanted to tell him to relax. That he had plenty of time. But he was too busy and probably wouldn't have listened to me anyway. I went to work.
David.
David.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
For My Dad
March 31, 1995
Dear Dad,
I know that after your stroke you said that we all came waiting for you to die, as in some sort of death watch. This is just not true. It occurred to me that the moments that count in life are not the moments we spend alone but moments we spend with each other. Maybe we came together because we feel that we haven't spent enough time together.
You raised your children to be productive members of society and, I believe every one of us is, but in doing so we have all had to make sacrifices. One sacrifice is that the family we were raised with, the family that made us what we are today does not get to see each other as much as we would like. We all have our own lives. But at the time of your stroke we realized that life is precious and also temporary.
Your stroke awoke in us a reality that we really haven't spent as much time together as we should. That is what we are worried about when we ask you how you are doing. Time is our most precious gift.
I guess what I really feel is that this warning that you have been given could be looked on as a gift; a sign of how precious and fleeting life is and that each moment has a beauty all its own to be cherished.
I wrote a poem once and it's been on my mind for several years now. I have begun to ask myself if I am proud of the life I lead. I have no doubts about my personal decisions. I love my family with all my heart. I have questions about my professional decisions. The poem I wrote was about a professional man who finds the decisions he has made have made him unhappy in or unfulfilled in his personal life. The questions asked of him are whether the boy he was would be proud of the man he is.
There are some things that we may never know. But today I came home and I saw my reflection in the window. I was holding my son while fumbling for my keys and I paused and looked at myself in the window. At that moment I realized who I am. I am a family man and as such I have responsibilities to my wife and my daughter and my son. And it makes me very happy. Those responsibilities are manifested in my commitment to my professional life and to myself. And it was in this moment I found an answer to the question. Yes, I am proud of myself. The boy I was could be proud of me. This is the essence of fatherhood.
This boy is also proud of you. I often talk of you in terms of what you accomplished. I tell my coworkers what you worked on and how many years you spent as an engineer. I am amazed at how you can grow just about anything in your backyard and build anything you want from scraps of wood. I love the way you reuse stuff that most people would throw away. I learned a lot from you and you should feel proud of your accomplishments as much as we are proud of you.
Thank you for being my DAD.
Love,
Your son, David
Dear Dad,
I know that after your stroke you said that we all came waiting for you to die, as in some sort of death watch. This is just not true. It occurred to me that the moments that count in life are not the moments we spend alone but moments we spend with each other. Maybe we came together because we feel that we haven't spent enough time together.
You raised your children to be productive members of society and, I believe every one of us is, but in doing so we have all had to make sacrifices. One sacrifice is that the family we were raised with, the family that made us what we are today does not get to see each other as much as we would like. We all have our own lives. But at the time of your stroke we realized that life is precious and also temporary.
Your stroke awoke in us a reality that we really haven't spent as much time together as we should. That is what we are worried about when we ask you how you are doing. Time is our most precious gift.
I guess what I really feel is that this warning that you have been given could be looked on as a gift; a sign of how precious and fleeting life is and that each moment has a beauty all its own to be cherished.
I wrote a poem once and it's been on my mind for several years now. I have begun to ask myself if I am proud of the life I lead. I have no doubts about my personal decisions. I love my family with all my heart. I have questions about my professional decisions. The poem I wrote was about a professional man who finds the decisions he has made have made him unhappy in or unfulfilled in his personal life. The questions asked of him are whether the boy he was would be proud of the man he is.
There are some things that we may never know. But today I came home and I saw my reflection in the window. I was holding my son while fumbling for my keys and I paused and looked at myself in the window. At that moment I realized who I am. I am a family man and as such I have responsibilities to my wife and my daughter and my son. And it makes me very happy. Those responsibilities are manifested in my commitment to my professional life and to myself. And it was in this moment I found an answer to the question. Yes, I am proud of myself. The boy I was could be proud of me. This is the essence of fatherhood.
This boy is also proud of you. I often talk of you in terms of what you accomplished. I tell my coworkers what you worked on and how many years you spent as an engineer. I am amazed at how you can grow just about anything in your backyard and build anything you want from scraps of wood. I love the way you reuse stuff that most people would throw away. I learned a lot from you and you should feel proud of your accomplishments as much as we are proud of you.
Thank you for being my DAD.
Love,
Your son, David
Thursday, November 29, 2007
My life as a frog
Ok, this is really just a bunch of nonsense. I really don't even remember how I came up with it. Have fun with it.
MY LIFE AS A FROG
or "Once a Prince always a Prince, but once a Knight is enough"
I was walking across the street
the other day when it struck me…do vultures think?
As I lay in the street contemplating the cosmos, the thought just came to me.
And as the flesh was being torn from my bones
I asked them if they could make it quick
as I had nowhere to be.
I never have liked pet birds--cagy fellows.
Sometimes I have bazaar thoughts
mostly while I'm shoppingfor some tern or phrase.
It wouldn't be so bad to be a frog.
All the beer you can drink
and all the flies you can catch.
"Warts it to you?" I said.
Give me a kiss now will ya?
by David NormandCopyright 2005
Well there you have it. My wife kissed a frog once and it turned out real well for me.
I never really developed a taste for flies.
D.
MY LIFE AS A FROG
or "Once a Prince always a Prince, but once a Knight is enough"
I was walking across the street
the other day when it struck me…do vultures think?
As I lay in the street contemplating the cosmos, the thought just came to me.
And as the flesh was being torn from my bones
I asked them if they could make it quick
as I had nowhere to be.
I never have liked pet birds--cagy fellows.
Sometimes I have bazaar thoughts
mostly while I'm shoppingfor some tern or phrase.
It wouldn't be so bad to be a frog.
All the beer you can drink
and all the flies you can catch.
"Warts it to you?" I said.
Give me a kiss now will ya?
by David NormandCopyright 2005
Well there you have it. My wife kissed a frog once and it turned out real well for me.
I never really developed a taste for flies.
D.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Teachers
I was 15 when I first received news about how my life would go. I was a poor student, sitting in an English class awaiting the return of our homework assignments. It was assigned a few days prior. We had read some stories in class and we were asked to compare and contrast the two stories. I remember thinking that the assignment seemed rather trivial and I wrote the paper with that attitude. I turned in paper that was roughly a page and a half long…maybe, 600 words.
I was the 15 year-old kid who sat at the back of the classroom and watched the clock. I wanted the day to be over so that I could go home or go to work. I really had no direction for my life. I figured I would finish school and, perhaps college, and then go to work at whatever job I could find. I had no chosen career or goals. I really hadn’t thought about it. I vacillated between several possible careers. I was going to be a television director. Or maybe a history teacher. I really had no direction, just thoughts.
Well, I wrote that assignment in about twenty minutes at my job that afternoon after school. I turned it in and forgot about it. I was in class several days later when the student teacher, Mr. Raeburn, started handing out the graded homework. He came to me and put the paper on my desk and held it there with his finger. A++. I looked up at him and he said that that was the best paper he had ever read written by a high school student. I was flabbergasted. My friends sitting around me were all straining to see my paper. I read the paper again. Really? The best? Wow. Thanks.
I passed my paper around to my friends and they all said, "way to go Dave." I really did not know what to make of it. In the following weeks word go around school that I was quite the writer. My teacher, Mrs. Rovaris, not the student teacher, took to telling her other classes that I was one of the best writers that she had. She mentioned my name to her other classes. I entered essay contests and even wrote a few short stories but none of them ever won anything or was accepted for publication. I never amounted to much in high school.
But those words, the best, still stick with me. And what those teachers did for me is really a tremendous thing. They saved me from a life of hopelessness and actually gave me the power to take control of my own life. The fact that it has been 30 years for me to start writing on a regular basis is really not their fault. They planted the seed and for some it is a slow germinating plant. Who knows what type of fruit it will bear.
Also, several years later I attended the University of New Orleans and my first English teacher that first semester there was the student teacher I had in high school, Mr. Raeburn. Just a coincidence. I think at that time he must have been disappointed that I wasn’t doing much with my writing. I got a good grade in the class but only one piece that I wrote was memorable and I seem to have lost it over the years.
My second semester was a different matter. I went through the entire semester doing the work and getting by. Our final exam was to write a letter to a friend explaining something that we knew about. I chose a topic that I had been researching for another class. I wrote an essay on Anarchy. I was impressed with it and copied it for my files. I should check to see if I still have it buried away somewhere. I only mention that because this was another amazing event in my writing life. I turned the paper in and went about my merry way thinking no more about it except for grades and such. Credentials, that is all I cared about.
Then, next semester, quite by chance, I was walking across campus when my English professor from the previous semester was coming directly towards me. We made eye contact and we exchanged "Hellos". And we continued walking. He got about twenty feet away from me and turned around. "Hey," he yelled. I turned around. "That essay you wrote for the final exam was just about the best I ever read by a freshman." I was shocked. I was at a loss for words. I thanked him rather weakly. But inside I was astounded. I was flabbergasted again. Somebody was trying to tell me something. And it has taken me 30 years to figure it out.
I want to thank those teachers. Mr. Raeburn, Mrs. Rovaris, my poetry teacher Mr. Merriman, and that forgotten professor, who over those formative years gave me the courage to have this goal, this dream. I thank you.
At last I would like to add a poem here, a limerick actually. This was told to me by Mr. Merriman. It has a familiar title and I have never forgotten it. It says a lot about perception to those who are willing to look. Keep an open mind. Here it is:
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the cash, Nan tuck it.
Thanks for listening.
David.
I was the 15 year-old kid who sat at the back of the classroom and watched the clock. I wanted the day to be over so that I could go home or go to work. I really had no direction for my life. I figured I would finish school and, perhaps college, and then go to work at whatever job I could find. I had no chosen career or goals. I really hadn’t thought about it. I vacillated between several possible careers. I was going to be a television director. Or maybe a history teacher. I really had no direction, just thoughts.
Well, I wrote that assignment in about twenty minutes at my job that afternoon after school. I turned it in and forgot about it. I was in class several days later when the student teacher, Mr. Raeburn, started handing out the graded homework. He came to me and put the paper on my desk and held it there with his finger. A++. I looked up at him and he said that that was the best paper he had ever read written by a high school student. I was flabbergasted. My friends sitting around me were all straining to see my paper. I read the paper again. Really? The best? Wow. Thanks.
I passed my paper around to my friends and they all said, "way to go Dave." I really did not know what to make of it. In the following weeks word go around school that I was quite the writer. My teacher, Mrs. Rovaris, not the student teacher, took to telling her other classes that I was one of the best writers that she had. She mentioned my name to her other classes. I entered essay contests and even wrote a few short stories but none of them ever won anything or was accepted for publication. I never amounted to much in high school.
But those words, the best, still stick with me. And what those teachers did for me is really a tremendous thing. They saved me from a life of hopelessness and actually gave me the power to take control of my own life. The fact that it has been 30 years for me to start writing on a regular basis is really not their fault. They planted the seed and for some it is a slow germinating plant. Who knows what type of fruit it will bear.
Also, several years later I attended the University of New Orleans and my first English teacher that first semester there was the student teacher I had in high school, Mr. Raeburn. Just a coincidence. I think at that time he must have been disappointed that I wasn’t doing much with my writing. I got a good grade in the class but only one piece that I wrote was memorable and I seem to have lost it over the years.
My second semester was a different matter. I went through the entire semester doing the work and getting by. Our final exam was to write a letter to a friend explaining something that we knew about. I chose a topic that I had been researching for another class. I wrote an essay on Anarchy. I was impressed with it and copied it for my files. I should check to see if I still have it buried away somewhere. I only mention that because this was another amazing event in my writing life. I turned the paper in and went about my merry way thinking no more about it except for grades and such. Credentials, that is all I cared about.
Then, next semester, quite by chance, I was walking across campus when my English professor from the previous semester was coming directly towards me. We made eye contact and we exchanged "Hellos". And we continued walking. He got about twenty feet away from me and turned around. "Hey," he yelled. I turned around. "That essay you wrote for the final exam was just about the best I ever read by a freshman." I was shocked. I was at a loss for words. I thanked him rather weakly. But inside I was astounded. I was flabbergasted again. Somebody was trying to tell me something. And it has taken me 30 years to figure it out.
I want to thank those teachers. Mr. Raeburn, Mrs. Rovaris, my poetry teacher Mr. Merriman, and that forgotten professor, who over those formative years gave me the courage to have this goal, this dream. I thank you.
At last I would like to add a poem here, a limerick actually. This was told to me by Mr. Merriman. It has a familiar title and I have never forgotten it. It says a lot about perception to those who are willing to look. Keep an open mind. Here it is:
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the cash, Nan tuck it.
Thanks for listening.
David.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Memories - the meadow, the wife, the lake.
The Meadow.
Many years ago I lived and worked in the high Sierra’s. I lived in a one bedroom apartment that overlooked a small meadow. I remember the meadow. The little meadow with the babbling brook and the ducks would land to rest there in the mornings and evenings. In the morning I would get up and shower and shave and grab my hot chocolate to sit on my porch and watch the ducks. I would sit there for hours, waiting for the sun to hit the porch as an indication that I would need to go to work.
The Wife.
I loved that apartment. I had a lot of memories there. My wife and I first entertained our friends there. We served dinner on a rickety old table that I inherited from my parents. I remember my wife washing dishes in the kitchen. I heard her crying. I went to see what had happened. She was washing the dishes and had broken one and she started crying softly, hoping that I would not hear. I asked her what happened, what was the matter. The dishes were my grandmother’s and she was afraid that I would be upset. I grabbed her in my arms and told her that it was just a dish and she had gotten them from a gas station.
I remember when she moved in. I had old wine crates for bookcases and an old Bok Choy crate for a coffee table. She was even critical of my sofa – a wonderfully comfortable hide-a-bed that friends and relatives used when they visited. She said the orange yellow green plaid pattern clashed with the carpet. I thought that it went well together. She was right.
The Lake.
I remember hiking with a friend. Staying at his cabin built in the 1920s and waking up in the morning and watching the mist rise on the lake. We began our hike that morning. Backpacking into the mountains for four days. We hiked until mid afternoon and then set up camp by a clear, mountain lake. Pete went to take a nap but I was too excited to sleep.
I went to the lake. I saw the eagles and birds flying overhead. I heard rocks on the other side of the lake tumble from the talus slopes down to the lakeshore. I saw the marmots run from rock to rock. I sat down on a rock by the lake, fished and ate a delicious apple. With each bite I felt more like Adam in the Garden of Eden, so at peace in paradise. I would bait my hook, cast out to the lake and slowly reel in my bait as I waited for the fish to bite. The lake water was so clear I could see the fish come up to the surface and checking out the man sitting there. I played this little game with them for awhile. In some way I was communicating with the fish. I was at one with the world. It was truly one of the most beautiful days of my life. I will never forget it.
Many years ago I lived and worked in the high Sierra’s. I lived in a one bedroom apartment that overlooked a small meadow. I remember the meadow. The little meadow with the babbling brook and the ducks would land to rest there in the mornings and evenings. In the morning I would get up and shower and shave and grab my hot chocolate to sit on my porch and watch the ducks. I would sit there for hours, waiting for the sun to hit the porch as an indication that I would need to go to work.
The Wife.
I loved that apartment. I had a lot of memories there. My wife and I first entertained our friends there. We served dinner on a rickety old table that I inherited from my parents. I remember my wife washing dishes in the kitchen. I heard her crying. I went to see what had happened. She was washing the dishes and had broken one and she started crying softly, hoping that I would not hear. I asked her what happened, what was the matter. The dishes were my grandmother’s and she was afraid that I would be upset. I grabbed her in my arms and told her that it was just a dish and she had gotten them from a gas station.
I remember when she moved in. I had old wine crates for bookcases and an old Bok Choy crate for a coffee table. She was even critical of my sofa – a wonderfully comfortable hide-a-bed that friends and relatives used when they visited. She said the orange yellow green plaid pattern clashed with the carpet. I thought that it went well together. She was right.
The Lake.
I remember hiking with a friend. Staying at his cabin built in the 1920s and waking up in the morning and watching the mist rise on the lake. We began our hike that morning. Backpacking into the mountains for four days. We hiked until mid afternoon and then set up camp by a clear, mountain lake. Pete went to take a nap but I was too excited to sleep.
I went to the lake. I saw the eagles and birds flying overhead. I heard rocks on the other side of the lake tumble from the talus slopes down to the lakeshore. I saw the marmots run from rock to rock. I sat down on a rock by the lake, fished and ate a delicious apple. With each bite I felt more like Adam in the Garden of Eden, so at peace in paradise. I would bait my hook, cast out to the lake and slowly reel in my bait as I waited for the fish to bite. The lake water was so clear I could see the fish come up to the surface and checking out the man sitting there. I played this little game with them for awhile. In some way I was communicating with the fish. I was at one with the world. It was truly one of the most beautiful days of my life. I will never forget it.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Pre Thanksgiving Notes.
The other day at work my coworkers and I had a discussion about Thanksgiving plans and menus. One of our guys is going to cook a turkey with his roommates, friends and assorted family members. We were talking about his menu. Someone asked the boss what he was going to do. My boss went vegetarian about a year ago. No particular reason except to lose weight. He has been doing great. I think he occasionally has a small steak or burger but for the most part he is sticking to a healthy, low fat diet. We all wanted to know whether he was going to do a turkey or not. (He brought in tofu for a recent pot luck – it was real good.)
My boss has limited his meat intake but he still eats fish and seafood. He said he and his wife were going to do lobsters for Thanksgiving dinner. Other people in our group were surprised and said so. "Lobsters ?? for Thanksgiving?"
I quickly rose to his defense (being the brown noser that I am). "Lobsters are the turkey of the sea", I said. That got a little laugh from the group.
I came home tonight and did a little research. Turkey was not on the menu of the first Thanksgiving. But Lobster and fish were. I feel quite good about my comment.
But I started thinking about how many families duplicate the actual first Thanksgiving menu as the Pilgrims and their neighbors did it? I know my family’s menu comes from many years of testing the likes and dislikes, the tastes and not so good tastes of my brothers and sisters. I think a lot of families are like that. Everyone has foods that they don’t like.
I remember one Thanksgiving we had three different types of potatoes on the table. Packaged mashed potatoes, fresh mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Thanks Mom. These were all done to accommodate different family member’s personal tastes. I know this sounds silly but there are many reasons to celebrate Thanksgiving. One reason is to be thankful to the Creator for the bountiful country that we live in. One is to celebrate our lives and good fortune. And this is how we show it. By having a feast.
Happy Thanksgiving! Celebrate your good fortune. Be happy and surround yourself in the company of friends and loved ones.
My boss has limited his meat intake but he still eats fish and seafood. He said he and his wife were going to do lobsters for Thanksgiving dinner. Other people in our group were surprised and said so. "Lobsters ?? for Thanksgiving?"
I quickly rose to his defense (being the brown noser that I am). "Lobsters are the turkey of the sea", I said. That got a little laugh from the group.
I came home tonight and did a little research. Turkey was not on the menu of the first Thanksgiving. But Lobster and fish were. I feel quite good about my comment.
But I started thinking about how many families duplicate the actual first Thanksgiving menu as the Pilgrims and their neighbors did it? I know my family’s menu comes from many years of testing the likes and dislikes, the tastes and not so good tastes of my brothers and sisters. I think a lot of families are like that. Everyone has foods that they don’t like.
I remember one Thanksgiving we had three different types of potatoes on the table. Packaged mashed potatoes, fresh mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Thanks Mom. These were all done to accommodate different family member’s personal tastes. I know this sounds silly but there are many reasons to celebrate Thanksgiving. One reason is to be thankful to the Creator for the bountiful country that we live in. One is to celebrate our lives and good fortune. And this is how we show it. By having a feast.
Happy Thanksgiving! Celebrate your good fortune. Be happy and surround yourself in the company of friends and loved ones.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Baseball as Metaphor
"It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart." A. Bartlett Giamatti
You may have already notice that I use quotes for inspiration. I wanted to write about Baseball. To paraphrase Giamatti, it is a game that starts in the spring and brings hope and promise and ends in the fall when the days are getting shorter and the warmth of summer is fading. I was going to talk about baseball. One of the great passions of my life, but when I read that quote and started thinking, I realized that the author was not just talking about baseball but he was also talking about life. I would like to talk about both.
I am not a rookie. I have been around the league a few times and here I am in the summer of my life and the days sometime seem to be so long. Believe me. But they are also filled with warmth and sunshine and baseball. My dad is in the fall of his life and his days are getting shorter. He is looking forward to the off season to nurse the nagging, career ending injuries that will cause him to retire from baseball, excuse me, I mean life.
I always strove to be like him. I will never be as great a player as he was and we never played in the same game. But my dad taught me a lot about how to be a play the game. My dad has never thrown me a baseball, literally. He does not share my passion. But that is okay, we have shared other things. He has given me his value system, if not his beliefs. And for that I am forever grateful. But you know it wasn't always great.
I realize now that everything I have done in my life I have done either for my dad or to somehow get back at him. He was an engineer and said I should go to college to prepare me for the majors. He wanted me to become a technical writer. I didn't think I could. When I was a rookie I declared myself a free agent and hit the road. I dabbled in the minor leagues for longer than I care to admit with no thought of making the majors. I worked in a dead end culinary career for 14 years.
Then I finally took my old man's advice and made the move. I signed a long-term contract (got married) and started on a new career. I had a plan. I would do as my dad wanted, not because he wanted me to, but because we wanted the same thing. And before long I made it to the majors (better job). I haven't set any records yet but I am still learning how to play the game. I guess it is a tribute to him that I am doing exactly what he suggested that I do. He knows me better than I know myself. Or maybe he just had greater plans for me. I know for a long time there I had broken my dad's heart. I never quite lived up to his expectations.
"It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart." My dad never watched me play. In the two years that I played baseball as a kid, I got one hit. My dad didn't see it. Now I have a son. I taught him everything I know about how to play ball. We had a lot of fun. We played catch in the evenings. He learned the game and my son and I are closer than my dad and I. And when it is time for my son to sign a contract or become a free agent…. I hope he makes the right choice. But I think he may break my heart. Right now his favorite sport is skateboarding. He has given up on baseball.
I know I broke my dad's heart by my wasted youth. But I think (hope) I am making up for that now. I see my dad at least once a week now. He had a stroke a few years ago. For all of my life my dad tended his garden. It was his joy, his passion, his means to relax. He no longer goes to his garden. He can't get around like he used to and his eyes are going bad. But I know that someday he will be able to see his son hit that home run. And I hope to make him proud.
You may have already notice that I use quotes for inspiration. I wanted to write about Baseball. To paraphrase Giamatti, it is a game that starts in the spring and brings hope and promise and ends in the fall when the days are getting shorter and the warmth of summer is fading. I was going to talk about baseball. One of the great passions of my life, but when I read that quote and started thinking, I realized that the author was not just talking about baseball but he was also talking about life. I would like to talk about both.
I am not a rookie. I have been around the league a few times and here I am in the summer of my life and the days sometime seem to be so long. Believe me. But they are also filled with warmth and sunshine and baseball. My dad is in the fall of his life and his days are getting shorter. He is looking forward to the off season to nurse the nagging, career ending injuries that will cause him to retire from baseball, excuse me, I mean life.
I always strove to be like him. I will never be as great a player as he was and we never played in the same game. But my dad taught me a lot about how to be a play the game. My dad has never thrown me a baseball, literally. He does not share my passion. But that is okay, we have shared other things. He has given me his value system, if not his beliefs. And for that I am forever grateful. But you know it wasn't always great.
I realize now that everything I have done in my life I have done either for my dad or to somehow get back at him. He was an engineer and said I should go to college to prepare me for the majors. He wanted me to become a technical writer. I didn't think I could. When I was a rookie I declared myself a free agent and hit the road. I dabbled in the minor leagues for longer than I care to admit with no thought of making the majors. I worked in a dead end culinary career for 14 years.
Then I finally took my old man's advice and made the move. I signed a long-term contract (got married) and started on a new career. I had a plan. I would do as my dad wanted, not because he wanted me to, but because we wanted the same thing. And before long I made it to the majors (better job). I haven't set any records yet but I am still learning how to play the game. I guess it is a tribute to him that I am doing exactly what he suggested that I do. He knows me better than I know myself. Or maybe he just had greater plans for me. I know for a long time there I had broken my dad's heart. I never quite lived up to his expectations.
"It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart." My dad never watched me play. In the two years that I played baseball as a kid, I got one hit. My dad didn't see it. Now I have a son. I taught him everything I know about how to play ball. We had a lot of fun. We played catch in the evenings. He learned the game and my son and I are closer than my dad and I. And when it is time for my son to sign a contract or become a free agent…. I hope he makes the right choice. But I think he may break my heart. Right now his favorite sport is skateboarding. He has given up on baseball.
I know I broke my dad's heart by my wasted youth. But I think (hope) I am making up for that now. I see my dad at least once a week now. He had a stroke a few years ago. For all of my life my dad tended his garden. It was his joy, his passion, his means to relax. He no longer goes to his garden. He can't get around like he used to and his eyes are going bad. But I know that someday he will be able to see his son hit that home run. And I hope to make him proud.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Happy Veteran's Day
Happy Veteran's Day to all the veterans out there. Your sacrifice and contribution to this country is very much appreciated. I hope you all have a wonderful day off to celebrate in the way that you deem fit.
I am not a veteran. I never served in the armed forces. I regret that decision now as I get older. I see how important that service is. I work with a lot of veterans and I will let them know that their service is appreciated by me. I will tell them thank you.
Please join me in thanking all the veterans that you know. Thank you.
D.
I am not a veteran. I never served in the armed forces. I regret that decision now as I get older. I see how important that service is. I work with a lot of veterans and I will let them know that their service is appreciated by me. I will tell them thank you.
Please join me in thanking all the veterans that you know. Thank you.
D.
We Were Engaged Before We Had Our First Date.
When I was in college, I met this girl at a church function. She was a friend of my sister. We seemed to hit it off and over the next few months I would see her here and there. We would say hi and stuff but not much more. I was very shy. I went to see her at work once to ask her out but I couldn't get up enough courage. I told myself that I really didn't want to get involved because I would be moving away soon. A couple months later I moved back to Lake Tahoe. I say my life truly began this second time in Lake Tahoe because I couldn't get this girl out of my mind. I asked my sister how she was doing and she said she had moved to Texas and was not doing well. Her jobs weren't working out and she wasn't happy living in Texas. I asked my sister for her address.
This was sometime around January, 1987. I wrote her a letter. She wrote back. I wrote back, we exchanged phone numbers. We started talking on the phone for hours at a time. It was so easy talking to her. Our phone bills were $350- $400 a month. This went on for about four months when she came to San Diego for her sister's wedding. She decided to fly to Lake Tahoe to visit me.
Sometime during the previous months I had made up my mind. When she came to Tahoe I asked her to marry me. Well thankfully she said yes. So we went out to dinner and a movie. We were engaged before our first date. I always like telling people that.
And that was almost 21 years ago. Our children are our little treasures and they continue to give us gifts everyday. My daughter has a very kind heart and she just started her first job. She is very smart and I think she will be a famous person someday. My son is an adventurer. We have to watch him all the time. He is quiet and shy and loved to play baseball. He just turned 13 and has given up baseball for the skateboard. He and his friends get together and explore the neighborhoods on their skateboards.
Life has been good to us.
This was sometime around January, 1987. I wrote her a letter. She wrote back. I wrote back, we exchanged phone numbers. We started talking on the phone for hours at a time. It was so easy talking to her. Our phone bills were $350- $400 a month. This went on for about four months when she came to San Diego for her sister's wedding. She decided to fly to Lake Tahoe to visit me.
Sometime during the previous months I had made up my mind. When she came to Tahoe I asked her to marry me. Well thankfully she said yes. So we went out to dinner and a movie. We were engaged before our first date. I always like telling people that.
And that was almost 21 years ago. Our children are our little treasures and they continue to give us gifts everyday. My daughter has a very kind heart and she just started her first job. She is very smart and I think she will be a famous person someday. My son is an adventurer. We have to watch him all the time. He is quiet and shy and loved to play baseball. He just turned 13 and has given up baseball for the skateboard. He and his friends get together and explore the neighborhoods on their skateboards.
Life has been good to us.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Fish Story
A few years ago I saw a Meg Ryan movie, "City of Angels" that got me thinking. How many of you have ever done something with a pre-ordained outcome or expected results, only to be pleasantly surprised by an unexpected turn of events? My wife and I went to see the movie when it came out, expecting just any other movie. But when it was over it had succeeded in reminding us of the best times of our lives. She was reminded of the beginning of our life together and I was reminded of the best day that I ever spent fishing. The difference between women and men, I guess. There is a scene in the movie that was filmed at my favorite fishing hole.
When I was living and working in Lake Tahoe, wondering what to do with the rest of my life, I had this friend who was kind of a mentor to me. He was a little bit older than myself but we seemed to click because we had the same interests. We both liked to fish and drink. And when we didn't have the money or time to fish or drink, we would dream of writing the great American novel.
We were roommates and both worked at the same place but on different shifts. As often as we could we would go fishing on our days off. Fishing was usually limited to a half day because one of us either had just gotten off work or had to go to work later. I remember one particular day. My roommate and I had decided to go fishing early one morning. I got the thermos and filled it with a half a bottle of brandy and then topped it off with coffee. And we always have tuna fish sandwiches to show the fish who was more powerful. That would last us the morning. We had chosen a spot to go for no real reason. We had gone there before. I don't remember if we caught a fish there before or if we even had a bite but we figured "what the heck". We had seen people fishing there and it looked like a good spot.
We got there just as the sun was coming up. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sky was dotted with white puffy clouds and the wind was pushing those out over the desert as it brought new ones in from the west. We had our sandwiches and our spiked coffee. It was a perfect day. We just sat and talked the whole morning. Hours went by and we hadn't had so much as a nibble. But we didn't mind.
Finally, about noon, we decided that we should only stay about another half-hour because my roommate had to go to work. This begins the greatest half-hour I had ever spent fishing in my entire life. At about 12:10, I caught a fish. It was a beautiful rainbow trout. About 12 inches long. It was a good size fish, just right for the frying pan. We both went through our ritual of de-hooking the fish and handling it to get the fish flavor on our hands. We never showered on days we went fishing. You want to be sure that you kept all aromas natural. None of that soapy smell. The fish could detect that and wouldn't take the salmon eggs we were using for bait. Whenever we start fishing we make sure that we limit the man-made smells. We rub the bait on our hands before we bait the hook.
I proceeded to re-bait my line and set it in the water. At about 12:15, my roommate caught a fish. Then I caught another one about ten seconds later. We were pretty excited now. We quickly took our fish off our hooks and re-baited. As soon as we had re-cast our lines, we were catching fish all over again. Reel 'em in and re-bait, re-cast and reel 'em in again. The limit for Rainbow Trout in the Sierras was five per fisherman. In twenty minutes we had caught our limit. It was an amazing experience. One that I will always remember. We were laughing all the way back to the car. It was one of those life experiences that stick with someone till the day they die.
We have tried to duplicate the experience on numerous occasions, but that was a magical day and that it shall stay. I remember the lake. It is one of the smaller lakes next to Lake Tahoe. I was reminded of it then when I saw that movie. This lady in the movie had a troubled time in her life and escaped to Tahoe to work through it. She awoke one morning in a cabin overlooking my lake. It sent a warmth through my body because it holds such magic for me.
In closing I would like to say to you all, cherish those magical moments. Those moments that are set up to accomplish one thing yet have a completely unexpected result. Those moments are gifts. Those moments are special. We would often go fishing just to sit out in the sun and relax. We would have gone fishing just to sit by a lake and ponder all of life's mysteries. It wasn't important whether we caught anything or not. That is what fishing means to me. Fishing is not an action but a state of mind. The metaphor, fishing for the meaning of life.
When I was living and working in Lake Tahoe, wondering what to do with the rest of my life, I had this friend who was kind of a mentor to me. He was a little bit older than myself but we seemed to click because we had the same interests. We both liked to fish and drink. And when we didn't have the money or time to fish or drink, we would dream of writing the great American novel.
We were roommates and both worked at the same place but on different shifts. As often as we could we would go fishing on our days off. Fishing was usually limited to a half day because one of us either had just gotten off work or had to go to work later. I remember one particular day. My roommate and I had decided to go fishing early one morning. I got the thermos and filled it with a half a bottle of brandy and then topped it off with coffee. And we always have tuna fish sandwiches to show the fish who was more powerful. That would last us the morning. We had chosen a spot to go for no real reason. We had gone there before. I don't remember if we caught a fish there before or if we even had a bite but we figured "what the heck". We had seen people fishing there and it looked like a good spot.
We got there just as the sun was coming up. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sky was dotted with white puffy clouds and the wind was pushing those out over the desert as it brought new ones in from the west. We had our sandwiches and our spiked coffee. It was a perfect day. We just sat and talked the whole morning. Hours went by and we hadn't had so much as a nibble. But we didn't mind.
Finally, about noon, we decided that we should only stay about another half-hour because my roommate had to go to work. This begins the greatest half-hour I had ever spent fishing in my entire life. At about 12:10, I caught a fish. It was a beautiful rainbow trout. About 12 inches long. It was a good size fish, just right for the frying pan. We both went through our ritual of de-hooking the fish and handling it to get the fish flavor on our hands. We never showered on days we went fishing. You want to be sure that you kept all aromas natural. None of that soapy smell. The fish could detect that and wouldn't take the salmon eggs we were using for bait. Whenever we start fishing we make sure that we limit the man-made smells. We rub the bait on our hands before we bait the hook.
I proceeded to re-bait my line and set it in the water. At about 12:15, my roommate caught a fish. Then I caught another one about ten seconds later. We were pretty excited now. We quickly took our fish off our hooks and re-baited. As soon as we had re-cast our lines, we were catching fish all over again. Reel 'em in and re-bait, re-cast and reel 'em in again. The limit for Rainbow Trout in the Sierras was five per fisherman. In twenty minutes we had caught our limit. It was an amazing experience. One that I will always remember. We were laughing all the way back to the car. It was one of those life experiences that stick with someone till the day they die.
We have tried to duplicate the experience on numerous occasions, but that was a magical day and that it shall stay. I remember the lake. It is one of the smaller lakes next to Lake Tahoe. I was reminded of it then when I saw that movie. This lady in the movie had a troubled time in her life and escaped to Tahoe to work through it. She awoke one morning in a cabin overlooking my lake. It sent a warmth through my body because it holds such magic for me.
In closing I would like to say to you all, cherish those magical moments. Those moments that are set up to accomplish one thing yet have a completely unexpected result. Those moments are gifts. Those moments are special. We would often go fishing just to sit out in the sun and relax. We would have gone fishing just to sit by a lake and ponder all of life's mysteries. It wasn't important whether we caught anything or not. That is what fishing means to me. Fishing is not an action but a state of mind. The metaphor, fishing for the meaning of life.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
End of the World
This weekend my daughter taped a cable tv show on the prophesies of Nostradamas. I caught a little bit of the show while I was working on balancing my check book and paying the bills. I was intrigued by the historical aspects of the show. Nostradamas was a French astrologer who came up with his quatrains, some say, as a way to criticize his contempories. Some say that his prophesies prove something else, a great insight into the future.
At one point in the show the narrator stated that Nostradamas had picked 1997 as the date that the world would end. I know that a lot of people have written about this prospect in the past. I have a friend who stated to me once that the creation of the state of Israel was the beginning of the end of the world. I have known this guy for thirty years and I know him to be a sane individual and not one prone to chicken little prophesies. I asked him about it and he stated that the end might not be what we think. He said that most people might not even notice.
I was struck by the year 1997 because I had just posted, a couple of days ago, a post about the death of John Denver in October of 1997. I admired John Denver for his concern for the environment and I thought him to be a great humanitarian. I mentioned in that post that Mother Theresa, Princess Diana and Jacques Cousteau had all died within a few months of each other. I stated that I, at the time, thought it interesting that the powers that be in the universe thought we were doing well enough that they could take these great humanitarians from us. I guessed that we, as humans, must be doing ok.
Well, now I am not too sure. If Nostradamas was right and the world did end in 1997, then the deaths of those great humanitarians were a calling home. I am not much of a religious scholar, but could the "rapture" have happened and we didn't notice? I just don't know. But then, what of the rest of us? What are we doing? Is this our own little purgatory?
I am not a very religious person. I was raised a catholic but I haven't really been to church in a very long time. For a variety of reasons. My wife and I have tried to go back to the church but there was always something that happened that spoke to us and let us know that perhaps this wasn't a good time. I do, however, feel that I am looking for some guidance and I do occasionally pray to God to help me make decisions or to help me through some hard times. I don't know how much He is looking after me but I hope that He is close enough to help me when I really need Him.
But I digress. I mainly was getting to the question of the end of the world. I don't know that much about the scriptures to help me answer that question. I do know, however, that I know a great many good people who would have been "called home" in 1997 if that year had truly been the end of the world. Not being very knowledgeable on the subject I cannot speak with any authority about the end of the world. But if the world did end, someone forgot a lot of good people.
I really think that we are all still plugging away very diligently and the world did not end. Everyday we are all involved in a constant struggle at making our lives work. Some days are a lot harder for me than others but I think that is the nature of life. We all have our own little dramas to live out. I think that is the gist of it. Life is subjective.
And that brings me to my point. I don't really know anything. I try to get through each day safely, with the right moral decisions and with good health. I try to take care of my family. I try to educate my kids to the ways of the world. Sometimes I think I am a failure yet at others I feel as though I have done something useful and good.
To those of you who are reading this, e-mail me and let me know if I am right, wrong or completely out of my mind. I am beginning to ramble now and I don' t remember my original premise. Straighten me out on this, will ya? I would appreciate it. Thanks for listening.
D.
At one point in the show the narrator stated that Nostradamas had picked 1997 as the date that the world would end. I know that a lot of people have written about this prospect in the past. I have a friend who stated to me once that the creation of the state of Israel was the beginning of the end of the world. I have known this guy for thirty years and I know him to be a sane individual and not one prone to chicken little prophesies. I asked him about it and he stated that the end might not be what we think. He said that most people might not even notice.
I was struck by the year 1997 because I had just posted, a couple of days ago, a post about the death of John Denver in October of 1997. I admired John Denver for his concern for the environment and I thought him to be a great humanitarian. I mentioned in that post that Mother Theresa, Princess Diana and Jacques Cousteau had all died within a few months of each other. I stated that I, at the time, thought it interesting that the powers that be in the universe thought we were doing well enough that they could take these great humanitarians from us. I guessed that we, as humans, must be doing ok.
Well, now I am not too sure. If Nostradamas was right and the world did end in 1997, then the deaths of those great humanitarians were a calling home. I am not much of a religious scholar, but could the "rapture" have happened and we didn't notice? I just don't know. But then, what of the rest of us? What are we doing? Is this our own little purgatory?
I am not a very religious person. I was raised a catholic but I haven't really been to church in a very long time. For a variety of reasons. My wife and I have tried to go back to the church but there was always something that happened that spoke to us and let us know that perhaps this wasn't a good time. I do, however, feel that I am looking for some guidance and I do occasionally pray to God to help me make decisions or to help me through some hard times. I don't know how much He is looking after me but I hope that He is close enough to help me when I really need Him.
But I digress. I mainly was getting to the question of the end of the world. I don't know that much about the scriptures to help me answer that question. I do know, however, that I know a great many good people who would have been "called home" in 1997 if that year had truly been the end of the world. Not being very knowledgeable on the subject I cannot speak with any authority about the end of the world. But if the world did end, someone forgot a lot of good people.
I really think that we are all still plugging away very diligently and the world did not end. Everyday we are all involved in a constant struggle at making our lives work. Some days are a lot harder for me than others but I think that is the nature of life. We all have our own little dramas to live out. I think that is the gist of it. Life is subjective.
And that brings me to my point. I don't really know anything. I try to get through each day safely, with the right moral decisions and with good health. I try to take care of my family. I try to educate my kids to the ways of the world. Sometimes I think I am a failure yet at others I feel as though I have done something useful and good.
To those of you who are reading this, e-mail me and let me know if I am right, wrong or completely out of my mind. I am beginning to ramble now and I don' t remember my original premise. Straighten me out on this, will ya? I would appreciate it. Thanks for listening.
D.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Columbus Day, 2007
These are notes from November, 1997.
Recently, on October 12, 2007, marked the 10th year anniversary of the death of John Denver. I heard about it on the way to work that morning. I caught the tail end of the announcement and did not hear the name of the artist but read the news story on the internet. The real thing that caught my eye was the name John Denver. I was a huge fan of his when I was growing up, in high school and later when I was working in Lake Tahoe. It was in Lake Tahoe where I met John Denver. It was a great experience. I was lucky to see him in concert only once. I remember leaving the concert in a state of euforia. I remember telling my friends that JD was the single most important creative and spiritual influence in my life. I believe that to this day. I did not keep in touch with John's music. I regret that. But diapers and baby food took priority. I felt as though I lost a great friend when he died.
I did not tell anyone at the time but with the death of Princess Diana, Mother Theresa, John Denver and Jacques Cousteau I feel that the powers that be in the universe must feel that we humans had things pretty well under control to leave us without these great humanitarians.
Anyway, I have shed my tears for John and now I am lifted by his music to another level. I am listening to his spirit when I hear his music. That gives me a link to the other side. I am happy and content.
Recently, on October 12, 2007, marked the 10th year anniversary of the death of John Denver. I heard about it on the way to work that morning. I caught the tail end of the announcement and did not hear the name of the artist but read the news story on the internet. The real thing that caught my eye was the name John Denver. I was a huge fan of his when I was growing up, in high school and later when I was working in Lake Tahoe. It was in Lake Tahoe where I met John Denver. It was a great experience. I was lucky to see him in concert only once. I remember leaving the concert in a state of euforia. I remember telling my friends that JD was the single most important creative and spiritual influence in my life. I believe that to this day. I did not keep in touch with John's music. I regret that. But diapers and baby food took priority. I felt as though I lost a great friend when he died.
I did not tell anyone at the time but with the death of Princess Diana, Mother Theresa, John Denver and Jacques Cousteau I feel that the powers that be in the universe must feel that we humans had things pretty well under control to leave us without these great humanitarians.
Anyway, I have shed my tears for John and now I am lifted by his music to another level. I am listening to his spirit when I hear his music. That gives me a link to the other side. I am happy and content.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Wildfires
We were right in the middle of the San Diego wildfires last week. Yes. One is 15 miles to the north and another is about 12 miles to the south. The closests either one came to us was probably about 8 miles, as the crow flies.
We live in an old neighborhood, and the fires would have to go through a lot to get to us. The Santa Ana winds died down a few days ago and the fires are contained. They should be out sometime next week. I was called back to work on Wednesday morning last week. My wife had been going to work all week for half days. Most of the county has returned home after being evacuated. I have a mental list prepared about what to evacuate with but I kept it quiet just to let the kids feel a little at ease. My son had been on fall break the last two weeks prior to the fires and he has the rest of this past week off. My daughter had one week and it was extended to last week as well. They will have to make up that time lost.
County officials were trying to keep people off the roads. Many who were off went out to volunteer and help the evacuees. Except me, I can't handle the smoke. I have a little cough. Plus, I was recovering from my recent hospital stay. I was exhausted.
Santa Ana winds start with a high pressure system pushing down over the Great Basin (Utah, Nevada). That elevation is about 3000-4000 feet. As the high-pressure system, the air moves in a clockwise motion and it moves through the high desert. It picks up speed in the canyons and valleys and lowers in elevation. As air lowers in elevation it rises in temperature. About 4.5ºF for every 1000 feet. So by the time it reaches the coast (1000-ft. elevation) it can be 20ºF hotter and have 50 -60 mph behind it. The air is also desert air and extremely dry. We are in a drought and the dry air sucks any moisture out of the plants and vegetation. If there is a spark or anything the brush just goes up in flames. It is very volatile.
A Santa Ana condition is characterized by wind from the east. We had two fires, one to the north and one to the south. Our skies were clear, but warm. We had the dry heat but were spared by any fires and ash. Every once in a while we would get some smoke but our neighborhood was relatively clear. We lucked out. I know some of my coworkers had to be evacuated. I have not heard of any of them losing their houses. We kept an eye on the news but we were never in any danger. We would be concerned if there was one directly east of El Cajon, Santee, or Lakeside. There were several 4 years ago and we were really concerned then. But the fires we see there now quickly burn themselves out for a lack of fuel.
Four years ago, we were in the direct path of the flames and smoke. We were never in any real danger and did not evacuate. I did notice that we were at best 5 miles from the flames. We saw a lot of smoke and ash at that time. I went out to check on the yard and neighborhood and found, what looked like a burnt three-inch twig on the driveway behind my car. I bent over to pick it up and it disintegrated in my fingers. It turned completely to ash. That meant to me that it was on fire, an ember, when it hit my driveway. That is what the winds can do. It can carry a burning ember 5 miles and set it down on fire. We were very lucky that time as were we this time.
That is my take on the local wildfires. I count my blessings that we did not have to go through that nightmare. It has been said that the Lord never gives you any thing that you can’t handle. I have had a great life, with very little pain. I count my blessings. I sometimes think that God knows that I wouldn’t be able to handle anything like that. He is being easy on me. Thank God!
D.
We live in an old neighborhood, and the fires would have to go through a lot to get to us. The Santa Ana winds died down a few days ago and the fires are contained. They should be out sometime next week. I was called back to work on Wednesday morning last week. My wife had been going to work all week for half days. Most of the county has returned home after being evacuated. I have a mental list prepared about what to evacuate with but I kept it quiet just to let the kids feel a little at ease. My son had been on fall break the last two weeks prior to the fires and he has the rest of this past week off. My daughter had one week and it was extended to last week as well. They will have to make up that time lost.
County officials were trying to keep people off the roads. Many who were off went out to volunteer and help the evacuees. Except me, I can't handle the smoke. I have a little cough. Plus, I was recovering from my recent hospital stay. I was exhausted.
Santa Ana winds start with a high pressure system pushing down over the Great Basin (Utah, Nevada). That elevation is about 3000-4000 feet. As the high-pressure system, the air moves in a clockwise motion and it moves through the high desert. It picks up speed in the canyons and valleys and lowers in elevation. As air lowers in elevation it rises in temperature. About 4.5ºF for every 1000 feet. So by the time it reaches the coast (1000-ft. elevation) it can be 20ºF hotter and have 50 -60 mph behind it. The air is also desert air and extremely dry. We are in a drought and the dry air sucks any moisture out of the plants and vegetation. If there is a spark or anything the brush just goes up in flames. It is very volatile.
A Santa Ana condition is characterized by wind from the east. We had two fires, one to the north and one to the south. Our skies were clear, but warm. We had the dry heat but were spared by any fires and ash. Every once in a while we would get some smoke but our neighborhood was relatively clear. We lucked out. I know some of my coworkers had to be evacuated. I have not heard of any of them losing their houses. We kept an eye on the news but we were never in any danger. We would be concerned if there was one directly east of El Cajon, Santee, or Lakeside. There were several 4 years ago and we were really concerned then. But the fires we see there now quickly burn themselves out for a lack of fuel.
Four years ago, we were in the direct path of the flames and smoke. We were never in any real danger and did not evacuate. I did notice that we were at best 5 miles from the flames. We saw a lot of smoke and ash at that time. I went out to check on the yard and neighborhood and found, what looked like a burnt three-inch twig on the driveway behind my car. I bent over to pick it up and it disintegrated in my fingers. It turned completely to ash. That meant to me that it was on fire, an ember, when it hit my driveway. That is what the winds can do. It can carry a burning ember 5 miles and set it down on fire. We were very lucky that time as were we this time.
That is my take on the local wildfires. I count my blessings that we did not have to go through that nightmare. It has been said that the Lord never gives you any thing that you can’t handle. I have had a great life, with very little pain. I count my blessings. I sometimes think that God knows that I wouldn’t be able to handle anything like that. He is being easy on me. Thank God!
D.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Wake Up Calls
I set my alarm clock every day when I need the discipline to get going. That means I set my alarm every day when I need to go to work. We all need little reminders, little kicks in the butts, a little nudge to remind us of the things that we know need to be done. I need one everyday to get out of bed in the morning. I need a wake up call because otherwise I would just sleep for my own comfort.
A couple of weeks ago I received another wake up call. I went to a dinner party with some associates from work. My coworker and I were responsible for a huge four day presentation with our customers. The presentation went very well and we had a dinner planned for all participants. When we arrived at the restaurant all of the guests started ordering cocktails. I ordered one also.
I recently got out of the hospital for a bout of pancreatitis. One of the orders on release was to stay away from alcohol. For some reason I thought one little drink wouldn’t hurt. Well, it didn’t. Dinner was great, I think everyone had fun. It was a lot of food, nice flavor.
I drove home from the restaurant feeling quite well. The presentation had been going very well. The dinner went well. And there was no reason that the whole week would not conclude on a positive note. I got home about 9PM and sat down to talk to my wife and watch some television before going to bed.
By 10:30 PM I could not get comfortable. I had an inkling as to what the pain was. I had the experience before. I thought getting a good nights sleep would make me feel better but by 2 o’clock in the morning the pain would not go away. And by 5:00 AM I was in the emergency room. My pancreas was inflamed and irritated and it had shut down my intestines causing me excruciating pain. Once I was admitted to the hospital I called my coworker to let him know that I would not be in to work that day.
Luckily, the work that I had done on the project was the work that made it possible to be taken over by the customers. That was the purpose - to show the customers that they could do it. The presentation was destined to be a success whether I was there or not. But I would have liked to have seen the presentation through to the end.
I missed 7 days of work but I was too weak to do anything. I needed the time to recuperate. I was given a few more days when I returned to work. I went to work on Monday but, living and working in San Diego County, they sent us home. We returned on Wednesday.
Well, that hospital stay was my wake up call. The illness and the recent fires tell me that I need to be healthy to take care of my family. They need me around. I need to be here for them. I need to take better care of my health. I spent 5 days in the hospital and really put a lot of pressure on those who care about me. I think I know what needs to be done now. I am losing weight and feeling a lot more in control of my life.
Pay attention to your wake up calls. They are important.
A couple of weeks ago I received another wake up call. I went to a dinner party with some associates from work. My coworker and I were responsible for a huge four day presentation with our customers. The presentation went very well and we had a dinner planned for all participants. When we arrived at the restaurant all of the guests started ordering cocktails. I ordered one also.
I recently got out of the hospital for a bout of pancreatitis. One of the orders on release was to stay away from alcohol. For some reason I thought one little drink wouldn’t hurt. Well, it didn’t. Dinner was great, I think everyone had fun. It was a lot of food, nice flavor.
I drove home from the restaurant feeling quite well. The presentation had been going very well. The dinner went well. And there was no reason that the whole week would not conclude on a positive note. I got home about 9PM and sat down to talk to my wife and watch some television before going to bed.
By 10:30 PM I could not get comfortable. I had an inkling as to what the pain was. I had the experience before. I thought getting a good nights sleep would make me feel better but by 2 o’clock in the morning the pain would not go away. And by 5:00 AM I was in the emergency room. My pancreas was inflamed and irritated and it had shut down my intestines causing me excruciating pain. Once I was admitted to the hospital I called my coworker to let him know that I would not be in to work that day.
Luckily, the work that I had done on the project was the work that made it possible to be taken over by the customers. That was the purpose - to show the customers that they could do it. The presentation was destined to be a success whether I was there or not. But I would have liked to have seen the presentation through to the end.
I missed 7 days of work but I was too weak to do anything. I needed the time to recuperate. I was given a few more days when I returned to work. I went to work on Monday but, living and working in San Diego County, they sent us home. We returned on Wednesday.
Well, that hospital stay was my wake up call. The illness and the recent fires tell me that I need to be healthy to take care of my family. They need me around. I need to be here for them. I need to take better care of my health. I spent 5 days in the hospital and really put a lot of pressure on those who care about me. I think I know what needs to be done now. I am losing weight and feeling a lot more in control of my life.
Pay attention to your wake up calls. They are important.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
responsibility
Haven’t written much lately. I have been too tired. I started this blog about a month ago and I mentioned that I had some minor health problems that I am dealing with. Well, those health problems this past week landed me in the hospital for a minor five days. I was on an IV for three of those days. Unfortunately, I was on pain killing drugs so it was not a real great time for "pondering". I reached no great conclusions from this tremendous opportunity of introspection. The great revelation that came from this stay in the hospital was the knowledge that I need to take better control of my health. When this whole thing is over, I will have missed about 7 days of work, caused my family unbelievable amounts of pain and fear and I have nothing to show for it.
I can say that I have the knowledge that I have to do a better job of taking care of my health. I have too many reasons to live and too many people depend on me. And I can’t go around scaring them like this. I take full responsibility.
I can say that I have the knowledge that I have to do a better job of taking care of my health. I have too many reasons to live and too many people depend on me. And I can’t go around scaring them like this. I take full responsibility.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Begin
"Don't be afraid that your life will end,
be afraid that it will never begin."
I received an e-mail tonight from a dear friend. It was one of those chain e-mails that contains a pretty picture and some inspirational saying that is meant to inspire or provoke thought or give you warm fuzzies for the sender. All of that happened to me. It was a beautiful picture. And the little story was effective enough. The quote at the end is the quote that I led this entry with -- "Don't be afraid that your life will end/be afraid that it will never begin." That is the sum of why I am doing this.
My children are growing up. They are becoming more independent every day. My daughter is working and my son is getting smarter all the time. I see them growing into productive citizens. I see them following their dreams. I just thought I would start to follow mine. To quote Goethe, "Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. ."
My dream was to be a writer. So here I am. I have had millions of thoughts over the years. Most of those we won't talk about here. We can forget them. But a great many of them define who I am as a person today. I still have ideas for books, for novels, and I write notes everyday for poems that never seem to go anywhere but what I really want to do is be a columnist. To have a weekly column in a newspaper or magazine would be sooo cool. So I am here. Plugging away. Maybe some day I will get lucky, or, again, as I said in an earlier post, I am just here creating my own luck.
So, thank you to all who come here to read these words. For every new tick on the tally, I find encouragement. You are helping someone follow his dream. You are helping me down the road of life. We will see where this all leads. Be bold in your lives. Follow your dream.
D.
be afraid that it will never begin."
I received an e-mail tonight from a dear friend. It was one of those chain e-mails that contains a pretty picture and some inspirational saying that is meant to inspire or provoke thought or give you warm fuzzies for the sender. All of that happened to me. It was a beautiful picture. And the little story was effective enough. The quote at the end is the quote that I led this entry with -- "Don't be afraid that your life will end/be afraid that it will never begin." That is the sum of why I am doing this.
My children are growing up. They are becoming more independent every day. My daughter is working and my son is getting smarter all the time. I see them growing into productive citizens. I see them following their dreams. I just thought I would start to follow mine. To quote Goethe, "Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. ."
My dream was to be a writer. So here I am. I have had millions of thoughts over the years. Most of those we won't talk about here. We can forget them. But a great many of them define who I am as a person today. I still have ideas for books, for novels, and I write notes everyday for poems that never seem to go anywhere but what I really want to do is be a columnist. To have a weekly column in a newspaper or magazine would be sooo cool. So I am here. Plugging away. Maybe some day I will get lucky, or, again, as I said in an earlier post, I am just here creating my own luck.
So, thank you to all who come here to read these words. For every new tick on the tally, I find encouragement. You are helping someone follow his dream. You are helping me down the road of life. We will see where this all leads. Be bold in your lives. Follow your dream.
D.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Draft
I worked today. I write technical manuals for aircraft components. I had one such manual on my desk in my cubicle this morning. The manual was a review draft that was about to be sent to its final review.
My cube mate is a retired airline pilot, 78 years old and working part time to keep his mind active. He looked at the manual on my desk and saw the "draft" written on it and said he hated that word. I asked him why since he had a sweater on and it wasn’t drafty in the office at all. Draft is one of those words with many different meanings. To be "drafted" to the army; to "draft" a document; or a "draft" as in breeze. He said that he was drafted once. I didn’t press it any further but I knew what he meant. Jim can be a talker and at times it makes it difficult to get things done. So I let him go get his coffee. He is a good guy though and it is a pleasure having him as a cube mate. Plus, he only works part time so most of the time that I am there, he is not.
When he mentioned about the draft I started thinking about when I was a kid. I was in high school during the Vietnam War. I graduated high school in 1976. The war was over, or at least the US involvement was, a year before I graduated. There was no selective service requirement at the time. I was at the end of the baby boomer generation and I fell into the mid years - post draft and pre-selective service. I was never asked. I have often thought about what I would have done if I had been drafted. I was a shy, timid kid and probably would have done what was expected, done what I was told. I would have served…and been scared to death the whole time.
But I was really scared for my older brother. We have never talked about the draft or selective service. Probably, because it was all over when we graduated from school. Honestly, it never came up. As I am older now, and hopefully wiser, I realize that I missed out. The service would have been a great experience for me. I should have signed up. But, at 17, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I went to college and hid from life.
I serve my country now by being gainfully employed and paying taxes on what I earn. I spend most of my money and when I do that I pay taxes on what I spend. And I educate myself before elections. I vote my conscience. I try to vote for what is right. But given the primary system, sometimes I am forced to vote for what is left. I try to serve my country as well as I know how.
I am proud to be an American. And I will stand up for freedom and liberty as long as I live. I am proud of those who serve and they are better men than I am I salute them and thank them for their sacrifice and service.
My cube mate is a retired airline pilot, 78 years old and working part time to keep his mind active. He looked at the manual on my desk and saw the "draft" written on it and said he hated that word. I asked him why since he had a sweater on and it wasn’t drafty in the office at all. Draft is one of those words with many different meanings. To be "drafted" to the army; to "draft" a document; or a "draft" as in breeze. He said that he was drafted once. I didn’t press it any further but I knew what he meant. Jim can be a talker and at times it makes it difficult to get things done. So I let him go get his coffee. He is a good guy though and it is a pleasure having him as a cube mate. Plus, he only works part time so most of the time that I am there, he is not.
When he mentioned about the draft I started thinking about when I was a kid. I was in high school during the Vietnam War. I graduated high school in 1976. The war was over, or at least the US involvement was, a year before I graduated. There was no selective service requirement at the time. I was at the end of the baby boomer generation and I fell into the mid years - post draft and pre-selective service. I was never asked. I have often thought about what I would have done if I had been drafted. I was a shy, timid kid and probably would have done what was expected, done what I was told. I would have served…and been scared to death the whole time.
But I was really scared for my older brother. We have never talked about the draft or selective service. Probably, because it was all over when we graduated from school. Honestly, it never came up. As I am older now, and hopefully wiser, I realize that I missed out. The service would have been a great experience for me. I should have signed up. But, at 17, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I went to college and hid from life.
I serve my country now by being gainfully employed and paying taxes on what I earn. I spend most of my money and when I do that I pay taxes on what I spend. And I educate myself before elections. I vote my conscience. I try to vote for what is right. But given the primary system, sometimes I am forced to vote for what is left. I try to serve my country as well as I know how.
I am proud to be an American. And I will stand up for freedom and liberty as long as I live. I am proud of those who serve and they are better men than I am I salute them and thank them for their sacrifice and service.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Discussions
When I started this Blog I had all kinds of grand dreams. I thought that I would write thought provoking little essays here that would really provoke a lot of discussion on the life we lead. I have received some great comments and found links to some interesting people, but I am still waiting for those deep philosophical and intellectual follow-on discussions. Heck, I have only been at this a week now. But still, all of my friends who have checked out the site, AND all of my new friends, drop me an e-mail if you don't want to comment here. I would love to hear from you. Especially now that my team was so ungloriously eliminated from the baseball playoffs, I have plenty of time for long discussions. So, whenever you are ready, whatever you want to talk about.
Thanks for stopping by.
Thanks for stopping by.
Punny
This actually happened several years ago, but no one wanted to hear it.
In our office everyone at break time takes walks in the parking lot. It helps keep the blood flowing through the day. One day my friend, Tom, and I were walking. About one hundred yards away I saw his car parked under a tree. I asked him if he left his window down. He said he didn't think so but he'd better check. Break was just about over so as he went to check I went back to my desk. Several minutes later, Tom came back to the office.
"Did you leave the window down?" I asked.
"No, it just looked down," Tom replied.
"Well, I hope you did something to cheer it up."
"Yes, I juggled some balls and told some jokes."
"Oh, a real 'glass' act," I said.
"Hey, that's funny. You can go to a comedy club and 'win dough'," Tom countered
"Naw, they'd see right through it," I replied.
In our office everyone at break time takes walks in the parking lot. It helps keep the blood flowing through the day. One day my friend, Tom, and I were walking. About one hundred yards away I saw his car parked under a tree. I asked him if he left his window down. He said he didn't think so but he'd better check. Break was just about over so as he went to check I went back to my desk. Several minutes later, Tom came back to the office.
"Did you leave the window down?" I asked.
"No, it just looked down," Tom replied.
"Well, I hope you did something to cheer it up."
"Yes, I juggled some balls and told some jokes."
"Oh, a real 'glass' act," I said.
"Hey, that's funny. You can go to a comedy club and 'win dough'," Tom countered
"Naw, they'd see right through it," I replied.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Life is Wonderful
More Baseball stuff. Going through my notes again and I found another story from my son’s early baseball years. This was sometime around the spring of 2002.
My wife, Nora was busy one particular Saturday morning and it was up to me to watch Timmy, almost 7, and keep him busy. I failed at that. I gave him a baseball bat and told him to go outside and swing it to build his muscles. Katie went camping with the girl scouts. Poor Timmy was bored all morning. I fixed him lunch and then he looked over my shoulder as I worked on the computer. He wanted to play his Toy Story game but it needed to be re-installed. It kept giving me an error and besides I was trying to get the new computer set up. I was going on only four hours of sleep. I am afraid I was a little abrupt with him. I went to take a nap. This gives you a glimpse of my tremendous parenting skills.
Got him to his bball game just in time. My mom and dad came out to watch him play and that was nice. He got a hit off of live pitching and made another assist from the outfield. But that isn't all, his game went to about 5:30 and we needed to get ready for the Padres game that evening. We got there at the middle of the first inning. We sat down in our seats and Timmy noticed something for the first time.
"Dad, look, the Padres have base coaches just like we do."
I was impressed. He had not noticed that before. I turned to him and told him that since his team isn't using the pitching machine anymore that he is playing the same game as the major leaguers. From that point on he seemed really tuned in to the game. You know, as much as a soon to be 7 year old can be.
During the game when he got tired, he climbed up onto his mom's lap. She held him there for awhile. I looked at her with the look of "you know we paid for that seat" and she told me that she may not get to do that much longer. I nodded. He is growing up. You know what I am talking about. Time is precious.
I was up till two AM that night, reading, writing, and listening to music. I wrote a poem. This was around the time that Country Song, "I hope you Dance" was popular. I had a lot of feelings going on that night. My daughter was growing up, my son doing the same, and I was remembering the old times. This was the poem I came up with that evening in April, 2002.
"On occasions I have danced
and swayed to the music of love
And many times I have chanced
upon a delightful thought of us
But time, my old foe, barges in
to tread upon my heart.
Dances and chances become dim
and memories fade to dark. "
C. 2002, David Normand
I hope you like it. I was thinking about my kids, memories and watching them grow. I realized that time has stolen memories from me. I was listening to a lot of old music and I guess this poem can be read a few different ways. But overall, I like the sentiment. Life is too short. Enjoy what you have.
My wife, Nora was busy one particular Saturday morning and it was up to me to watch Timmy, almost 7, and keep him busy. I failed at that. I gave him a baseball bat and told him to go outside and swing it to build his muscles. Katie went camping with the girl scouts. Poor Timmy was bored all morning. I fixed him lunch and then he looked over my shoulder as I worked on the computer. He wanted to play his Toy Story game but it needed to be re-installed. It kept giving me an error and besides I was trying to get the new computer set up. I was going on only four hours of sleep. I am afraid I was a little abrupt with him. I went to take a nap. This gives you a glimpse of my tremendous parenting skills.
Got him to his bball game just in time. My mom and dad came out to watch him play and that was nice. He got a hit off of live pitching and made another assist from the outfield. But that isn't all, his game went to about 5:30 and we needed to get ready for the Padres game that evening. We got there at the middle of the first inning. We sat down in our seats and Timmy noticed something for the first time.
"Dad, look, the Padres have base coaches just like we do."
I was impressed. He had not noticed that before. I turned to him and told him that since his team isn't using the pitching machine anymore that he is playing the same game as the major leaguers. From that point on he seemed really tuned in to the game. You know, as much as a soon to be 7 year old can be.
During the game when he got tired, he climbed up onto his mom's lap. She held him there for awhile. I looked at her with the look of "you know we paid for that seat" and she told me that she may not get to do that much longer. I nodded. He is growing up. You know what I am talking about. Time is precious.
I was up till two AM that night, reading, writing, and listening to music. I wrote a poem. This was around the time that Country Song, "I hope you Dance" was popular. I had a lot of feelings going on that night. My daughter was growing up, my son doing the same, and I was remembering the old times. This was the poem I came up with that evening in April, 2002.
"On occasions I have danced
and swayed to the music of love
And many times I have chanced
upon a delightful thought of us
But time, my old foe, barges in
to tread upon my heart.
Dances and chances become dim
and memories fade to dark. "
C. 2002, David Normand
I hope you like it. I was thinking about my kids, memories and watching them grow. I realized that time has stolen memories from me. I was listening to a lot of old music and I guess this poem can be read a few different ways. But overall, I like the sentiment. Life is too short. Enjoy what you have.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Reasons
I truly believe that things happen for a reason. I think I am the person I was meant to be. I think we make choices in life that make us who we are. I am the product of my choices and my ponderings. Every thought, every action and every reaction, every feeling from those thoughts, actions and reactions, every insight from them, they all served to make me into the spiritual being that I am today. I am the sum total of my thoughts, insights and memories. This is who I am...today. I may become someone else tomorrow.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
A little story about shoes…
When my son Tim was 5 he played tee ball. During his first season he was at bat in the final game of the season when time was called. A member of the opposing team, the pitcher, needed to tie his shoes. As I stood on the sidelines and noticed the lull in the game, I thought to look at my son to see how he handled the break. He stood there intent on the pitcher, watching the player tie his shoes. Looking at my son, I noticed a thought process in his mind. What was he thinking? Was he concentrating on the ball, thinking about meeting the ball with the bat? Was he thinking about his swing, 'keep it level, elbow up, watch the ball', all the instructions that his coaches and myself had told him? He was really concentrating.
When play resumed, Timmy put the ball in play, where it went by two infielders and he ended up on first base with a "hit".
Later that day, I decided to ask my son about it.
"Tim, what were you thinking when you were batting and that other player was tying his shoes?" I asked.
"I was thinking, 'I wish I could tie my shoes'."
And there you have it. Parents. We have this perception of who and what we think our kids are. That perception can be way off base. I was really expecting a baseball answer. I was thinking that all the knowledge we instilled in him had taken, but he had just turned 5. He was still just a baby. Caught in that middle ground of being thrust into school, wanting to be like the older kids. Wanting to know and learn.
That summer we worked on tying his shoes. This year we are working on Algebra. Time flies.
When play resumed, Timmy put the ball in play, where it went by two infielders and he ended up on first base with a "hit".
Later that day, I decided to ask my son about it.
"Tim, what were you thinking when you were batting and that other player was tying his shoes?" I asked.
"I was thinking, 'I wish I could tie my shoes'."
And there you have it. Parents. We have this perception of who and what we think our kids are. That perception can be way off base. I was really expecting a baseball answer. I was thinking that all the knowledge we instilled in him had taken, but he had just turned 5. He was still just a baby. Caught in that middle ground of being thrust into school, wanting to be like the older kids. Wanting to know and learn.
That summer we worked on tying his shoes. This year we are working on Algebra. Time flies.
Friday, September 28, 2007
"Things to do while waiting in traffic".
There was a recent news report about time spent in traffic for the daily work commute. While watching that report I thought about the time I spend waiting in traffic. It occurred to me that we all have to face the traffic and I thought it would be nice to come up with a few ideas to kind of kill time during those idle moments. In searching for those ideas I went to that trusty source of information, that trendy dictionary and encyclopedia, the Internet. I ran a search on several engines for "What to do while waiting in traffic". Unfortunately, the only information that I could come up with was from a guy named 'Mr. Traffic'. He essentially said "keep your eyes on the road." Well I wanted a little more than that. It is good advice but that should be done all the time. I figured that I would have to look elsewhere. I racked my brain and came up with a few ideas of my own.
I figured that we didn't want to waste our time so the time spent should be productive. It is not practical to read a book or the newspaper, but you can get books on tape or listen to news or talk radio. But I don't know about you but talk radio gets my blood pressure up. Audio books are great. I listen to motivational books or tapes. They help to keep my spirits up. And they teach me good habits for living in the today's world. I find this very relaxing. Listening to music is also a very good occupation for the automobile. It soothes the soul and helps fight road rage.
I find all of these to be worthwhile pursuits but if you are really pressed for time and need to kill two birds with one stone there may be something else that you should consider. It is very easy to cook dinner while you are waiting in traffic. All you need is food and a piece of foil and, of course, a hot engine.
In one of my other lives I used to be a chef. One of my specialties was cooking fish. Some of our specials for dinner were called en papillote, or cooking in paper or a pouch. This can be easily adapted to the automobile. It may mean taking the food into work in the morning and having it ready but the cooking time is done away with because it is the commute time. This method works very well. All you really have to do is to put a piece of fish or chicken (pork and beef work okay) on a piece of foil. Top with your favorite vegetables and seasonings. Roll the foil around the meat and make sure that the seal is tight. You want to keep the air and juices, the flavor, inside the pouch. The next step that you have to do is choose a good safe spot in the engine compartment of your car. A lot of people have suggested right on top of the air filter. All cars are different so I think that a bit of study is needed to properly determine a safe spot. And by the time you get home dinner is ready. Just think, all you have to do then is set the table and open a nice bottle of wine-a nice romantic dinner. You really won't believe it.
Don't take my advice on this. Do your research before you stick the food in your engine compartment. I don't want to be responsible for you missing dinner. Just check it out and have some fun with it.
Thanks for reading.
I figured that we didn't want to waste our time so the time spent should be productive. It is not practical to read a book or the newspaper, but you can get books on tape or listen to news or talk radio. But I don't know about you but talk radio gets my blood pressure up. Audio books are great. I listen to motivational books or tapes. They help to keep my spirits up. And they teach me good habits for living in the today's world. I find this very relaxing. Listening to music is also a very good occupation for the automobile. It soothes the soul and helps fight road rage.
I find all of these to be worthwhile pursuits but if you are really pressed for time and need to kill two birds with one stone there may be something else that you should consider. It is very easy to cook dinner while you are waiting in traffic. All you need is food and a piece of foil and, of course, a hot engine.
In one of my other lives I used to be a chef. One of my specialties was cooking fish. Some of our specials for dinner were called en papillote, or cooking in paper or a pouch. This can be easily adapted to the automobile. It may mean taking the food into work in the morning and having it ready but the cooking time is done away with because it is the commute time. This method works very well. All you really have to do is to put a piece of fish or chicken (pork and beef work okay) on a piece of foil. Top with your favorite vegetables and seasonings. Roll the foil around the meat and make sure that the seal is tight. You want to keep the air and juices, the flavor, inside the pouch. The next step that you have to do is choose a good safe spot in the engine compartment of your car. A lot of people have suggested right on top of the air filter. All cars are different so I think that a bit of study is needed to properly determine a safe spot. And by the time you get home dinner is ready. Just think, all you have to do then is set the table and open a nice bottle of wine-a nice romantic dinner. You really won't believe it.
Don't take my advice on this. Do your research before you stick the food in your engine compartment. I don't want to be responsible for you missing dinner. Just check it out and have some fun with it.
Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Dreams
I was looking through my notes for something to write about tonight. I found something that I was working on about 7 years ago and stuffed away into a corner. It brought to mind why I am doing this.
We all have dreams. Dreams are created and die everyday. They really take nurturing to make them productive and fruitful. I stopped nurturing my dreams a few years ago. Well, no. I stopped nurturing some of them. I traded one dream for another. Now I want them both.
I dreamt of getting married and having a family. Then I met this girl. And we got married. There is a long story there, but I will save that for another day. I have been married for almost twenty years now. I wouldn't trade those years for anything. Through the good times and bad times we have been together. She is my soulmate. We talk everyday. About silly things, about important things. We have two beautiful kids.
My family has absorbed a great amount of my time and love over the past twenty years and now that my kids are growing I am finding that now I have time for those forgotten dreams. Tonight I found my notes from the week before my brother took off on his dream vacation -- two months in Alaska. These are my notes:
(I used to have plans like my brother. But then I got married. Settled down, got sensible about life.)
" A poem about forgotten dreams.
I had a list of places to go.
So many years ago.
In a moment of despair,
I buried my list somewhere
Packed away the maps.
Closed all the windows
and sold the car
Don't get around much anymore."
David Normand, C. 1999
There you go. The life of a poet. We write more notes than real poems.
I am 49 years old. Over the last three months my health has gone from fair to less than fair. I said good bye to a well respected boss, a person I admired, who was six months younger than myself. I spent a weekend in the hospital. All of these events have taught me that the time is now. You don't get a second chance. I have spent my life waiting for... just about everything. Waiting for the time to be right. I never really understood all of the inspirational quotes I have read. I read them all differently now.
I am not sure who said it originally, GB Shaw?, but to paraphrase: The real winners are not the ones with easy success but the ones who go out and, not finding the situations that they need for success, they go out and create their own situations.
I guess that is what I am doing here. I am creating my own situation. Creating my own success. I guess I will find out how well it works out. If it is a mistake, so be it, or a waste of time...No it could never be a waste of time. I do remember one quote from GBS that mentions that:
A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.
George Bernard Shaw
I hope everyone is doing well. Take care. Follow your dreams.
David
We all have dreams. Dreams are created and die everyday. They really take nurturing to make them productive and fruitful. I stopped nurturing my dreams a few years ago. Well, no. I stopped nurturing some of them. I traded one dream for another. Now I want them both.
I dreamt of getting married and having a family. Then I met this girl. And we got married. There is a long story there, but I will save that for another day. I have been married for almost twenty years now. I wouldn't trade those years for anything. Through the good times and bad times we have been together. She is my soulmate. We talk everyday. About silly things, about important things. We have two beautiful kids.
My family has absorbed a great amount of my time and love over the past twenty years and now that my kids are growing I am finding that now I have time for those forgotten dreams. Tonight I found my notes from the week before my brother took off on his dream vacation -- two months in Alaska. These are my notes:
(I used to have plans like my brother. But then I got married. Settled down, got sensible about life.)
" A poem about forgotten dreams.
I had a list of places to go.
So many years ago.
In a moment of despair,
I buried my list somewhere
Packed away the maps.
Closed all the windows
and sold the car
Don't get around much anymore."
David Normand, C. 1999
There you go. The life of a poet. We write more notes than real poems.
I am 49 years old. Over the last three months my health has gone from fair to less than fair. I said good bye to a well respected boss, a person I admired, who was six months younger than myself. I spent a weekend in the hospital. All of these events have taught me that the time is now. You don't get a second chance. I have spent my life waiting for... just about everything. Waiting for the time to be right. I never really understood all of the inspirational quotes I have read. I read them all differently now.
I am not sure who said it originally, GB Shaw?, but to paraphrase: The real winners are not the ones with easy success but the ones who go out and, not finding the situations that they need for success, they go out and create their own situations.
I guess that is what I am doing here. I am creating my own situation. Creating my own success. I guess I will find out how well it works out. If it is a mistake, so be it, or a waste of time...No it could never be a waste of time. I do remember one quote from GBS that mentions that:
A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.
George Bernard Shaw
I hope everyone is doing well. Take care. Follow your dreams.
David
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Squirrels
Several months ago I read an article on the squirrel problem in Santa Monica and how the authorities were giving out squirrel birth control pills to control the population. It really hit home.
When I worked in the Sierras my rental home was in a neighborhood with an abundance of tall, old pine trees. I was sitting on my deck late one summer afternoon, when I heard a noise coming from a neighboring vacant summer house. Something was falling from the trees. Tap. Tap. Tap. Significantly spaced and almost melodic. I could not figure out what it was. I was transfixed on the deck. It just kept going on.
I scanned the trees and noticed a little squirrel about 3/4 of the way up. He had a pine cone wedged on the branches. He was gently stripping away the scales of the cone to get to the pine nuts. The cherished nut he either ate or stuffed in his cheek and then he let the unwanted scale fall. Tap. Tap. Tap. I must have watched him for twenty minutes.
This gentle episode has been etched in my memory for nearly 25 years. I find great pleasure in it. I hope that, perhaps in the future, when Santa Monica's squirrels have all been eradicated that maybe someone will cherish their memory as much.
When I worked in the Sierras my rental home was in a neighborhood with an abundance of tall, old pine trees. I was sitting on my deck late one summer afternoon, when I heard a noise coming from a neighboring vacant summer house. Something was falling from the trees. Tap. Tap. Tap. Significantly spaced and almost melodic. I could not figure out what it was. I was transfixed on the deck. It just kept going on.
I scanned the trees and noticed a little squirrel about 3/4 of the way up. He had a pine cone wedged on the branches. He was gently stripping away the scales of the cone to get to the pine nuts. The cherished nut he either ate or stuffed in his cheek and then he let the unwanted scale fall. Tap. Tap. Tap. I must have watched him for twenty minutes.
This gentle episode has been etched in my memory for nearly 25 years. I find great pleasure in it. I hope that, perhaps in the future, when Santa Monica's squirrels have all been eradicated that maybe someone will cherish their memory as much.
Monday, September 24, 2007
My first blog
My name is David. I consider myself a poet. Whether you consider me one is part of this question. I have wanted to post a blog for some time now. I think I have something to say. We shall see.
As I was putting together these words, I asked myself "who am I?" I must say that I was at a loss for description. Because I do consider myself, and everyone else, too, a work in progress. I was torn between talking about my life as purely Chronologically, letting you know where I have lived and why I moved around, or telling you about who I am or rather what makes me, me.
I decided to do both. I will not bore you with the details of everyday life except to tell you that I have lived all over this country. I was born and partly raised in Sacramento, CA and moved to the mountains when I was 7 years old. At that point my dad realized that his entire family was allergic to the pollen in the air and he moved us all to the foothills of the Sierras to the fresh air. It was there that I learned to love nature and the mountains. I didn't stay there very long. Two years later my family moved to Buffalo, New York. We spent two frozen winters in Buffalo before moving to the humid deep south in New Orleans. I loved New Orleans. I loved the history, the old forts and the battlefield. Finally, when I was about 20 my family moved back to California. I was not doing anything in New Orleans at the time so I moved here with them.
I grew up in New Orleans. And somewhere I learned to write. But I was never as good as I truly thought I had to be. I don't know where the pressure came from but I felt that I had to be the best. After high school I wandered about. Searching for something.
Let me know about your searches. Maybe we can get a great discussion going.
I have lived in the mountains of California (1960's and 1980's) , through the winters of Buffalo, New York (1960's) , through hurricanes in the New Orleans Ninth Ward (1970's) , and in the paradise of San Diego, California (1990's to present) . I have loved and lost, and loved and won. I continue to savor that victory.
As I was putting together these words, I asked myself "who am I?" I must say that I was at a loss for description. Because I do consider myself, and everyone else, too, a work in progress. I was torn between talking about my life as purely Chronologically, letting you know where I have lived and why I moved around, or telling you about who I am or rather what makes me, me.
I decided to do both. I will not bore you with the details of everyday life except to tell you that I have lived all over this country. I was born and partly raised in Sacramento, CA and moved to the mountains when I was 7 years old. At that point my dad realized that his entire family was allergic to the pollen in the air and he moved us all to the foothills of the Sierras to the fresh air. It was there that I learned to love nature and the mountains. I didn't stay there very long. Two years later my family moved to Buffalo, New York. We spent two frozen winters in Buffalo before moving to the humid deep south in New Orleans. I loved New Orleans. I loved the history, the old forts and the battlefield. Finally, when I was about 20 my family moved back to California. I was not doing anything in New Orleans at the time so I moved here with them.
I grew up in New Orleans. And somewhere I learned to write. But I was never as good as I truly thought I had to be. I don't know where the pressure came from but I felt that I had to be the best. After high school I wandered about. Searching for something.
Let me know about your searches. Maybe we can get a great discussion going.
I have lived in the mountains of California (1960's and 1980's) , through the winters of Buffalo, New York (1960's) , through hurricanes in the New Orleans Ninth Ward (1970's) , and in the paradise of San Diego, California (1990's to present) . I have loved and lost, and loved and won. I continue to savor that victory.
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