I think I'm beginning to discover the flow of this blog. I've written them in the past, I've kept journals, notebooks and other things in between. Shoot, for that matter, I've burned entire notebooks...utilizing the idea of the Phoenix, when I find myself in a funk or stuck using the same type of lingo or hooks, I'll literally burn entire collections of my writing to free myself from them, rising anew, reborn with brand new ideas to spew forth. But no matter the topic, those writings all discussed something, a belief, some story that I might have percolating inside my mind. But here, I'm feeling like like this is the curtain pulled back, here you are getting to see the Great Oz when all the bells and whistles are removed.
In other words...here you get to understand that I've been sitting in the dark for five minutes in front of this computer screen thinking about what words are going to be strung together. Instead of a story, here you are learning about how the story comes about.
Here, you get to read me think about Trayvon and how a life was lost. But you also get to read me think that maybe he did start the fight, but you also get to follow these words and read me come back around to the fact that a life was lost and how do we as a society not hold someone accountable for that? Jeez, Michael Vick spent two years in prison for killing dogs that could have very well attacked him, right?
You get to read me envision me here, sitting in the dark still, arms wrapped around myself, wondering what the next story is. Trayvon will be done soon enough, because there is going to be something sexy, something gruesome, something international that is going to take the eye of the camera off of it. The news works like music and radio nowadays.
Tangent: I remember being a kid; 1984, I was in the fourth grade, jamming to Michael and the Thriller album. Yup, I was in my bedroom and between dunking on the Nerf hoop hanging on the back of my door, I was practicing those sweet Thriller moves and pretending to understand the true value of PYT and Billie Jean. Then came 1985, I still heard the Thriller album on the radio, still moonwalking in my room. One freaking year later and I was still on the same album and songs, loving them like they were brand new. The news was the same. Reagan was reelected, trickle-down economics was in full effect and the stories were all the same. Times were slower, we absorbed what life put in front of us and we used that knowledge to learn and proceed. It didn't always mean the news was good, but at least we could use it to move forward with purpose.
Now...we're lucky to get the same story from the 5pm news as we are on the 6pm news. What can really hold our attention any more?
So, now, with Trayvon, who do we blame? Hurry up and make a decision before the story goes away...facts be damned. Do we blame the shooter, the parents who didn't know to look for him in a morgue until three days later, a society that didn't bother to know their neighbors? You or me for writing and reading about all of this, trying to get some juicy bit of info no one else knows about yet?
And now, instead of reading about a grand thought, you have come full circle with me and together we are wondering how did we get here as a society? All the advancements, all the knowledge that we have at our fingertips...shit...the fact that anyone now can be a writer who can impact the world with a mesmerizing string of dialogue...but why are we not yet satisfied? Why do we always have to be looking to something else to capture our attention? Why not just settle in and dwell on something for a moment? Maybe then, we won't always be looking for the next child who will be killed, instead we can focus on the one who already was and try to solve the issue of not letting it happen again to be the next 5 o'clock special.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Buying a House While Fighting the Bubonic Plague and Other Abstract Thoughts
I guess I made a promise at just about the wrong time in my life. It seemed like such a simple thing and the perfect time to do it. I am motivated to write, to lay bare my soul before you day after day. And it was pretty easy to get started, the words, commas, periods and general dashes of brilliance were all brimming within, waiting to spill out through my fingertips onto this digital canvas.
Of course, I realize it was made easy because I started this journey while entering into the realm of vacation; I had the luxury of waking up after the sun, having a cup of coffee that had been prepared for me and sitting in 70 degree warmth next to a swimming pool, while staring at a mountainside as I tried to organize all that punctuation in my nugget.
Now, I sit in a building made of cynder blocks with a heater blasting as I try to fight the lasting effects of a cough (that fortunately) gets a little bit drier each day. Instead of waking to the smell of coffee and a gentle prod from the sunlight, a merciless clock screams out in the darkness each morning. I think it has artificial intelligence and knows which day is Monday and knows to "WAHH-WAHH-WAHH" a little louder. The lasting effects of this sickness I adopted from Lisa is leaving me ever so slightly drained. Not enough to be debilitating, just enough to make mornings and life a little more annoying than usual. Certain things I lift are just a little bit heavier, my breath seems to leave me just a little quicker when I have to exert myself and 230 in the afternoon is definitely nap time...problem is, I'm still at work at that point.
Ah well, it's not all bad. This bubonic plague didn't kill me, although it didn't make me stronger, so I don't subscribe to that old addage. Lisa and I are finally working through the (hopefully) last phases of purchasing a house. Being first time buyers I don't think either one of us can truly realize how special this whole process has been. From what I understand, most people shop nearly 100 homes and usually have at least a couple of deals fall apart before they get something close to what they want. This is what I've been told, but hasn't been our experience so far. After looking at no more than a dozen houses we fell in love with the single one we put an offer in on. Then, from what I'm told, the truly unique happened. Our offer was accepted over that of a cash offer.
Hmm, okay, doesn't mean much to me, but as I've been thoroughly lectured about the subject, this just doesn't happen in this day and age. If someone has the chance to "take the money and run" that's what they are "supposed" to do. Well, things are at a point where we still have a few weeks before we close, but thanks to our superagent and the support of our family, we are well on our way to owning our first home and it is quite exciting and humbling all the same.
Anyway, enough gobbledy goop for a day. Off to tackle this day and try to pretend something mesmerizing will happen so that I can write about that tomorrow or something. If not, I'll just share the fascinating world of quadratic functions.
Of course, I realize it was made easy because I started this journey while entering into the realm of vacation; I had the luxury of waking up after the sun, having a cup of coffee that had been prepared for me and sitting in 70 degree warmth next to a swimming pool, while staring at a mountainside as I tried to organize all that punctuation in my nugget.
Now, I sit in a building made of cynder blocks with a heater blasting as I try to fight the lasting effects of a cough (that fortunately) gets a little bit drier each day. Instead of waking to the smell of coffee and a gentle prod from the sunlight, a merciless clock screams out in the darkness each morning. I think it has artificial intelligence and knows which day is Monday and knows to "WAHH-WAHH-WAHH" a little louder. The lasting effects of this sickness I adopted from Lisa is leaving me ever so slightly drained. Not enough to be debilitating, just enough to make mornings and life a little more annoying than usual. Certain things I lift are just a little bit heavier, my breath seems to leave me just a little quicker when I have to exert myself and 230 in the afternoon is definitely nap time...problem is, I'm still at work at that point.
Ah well, it's not all bad. This bubonic plague didn't kill me, although it didn't make me stronger, so I don't subscribe to that old addage. Lisa and I are finally working through the (hopefully) last phases of purchasing a house. Being first time buyers I don't think either one of us can truly realize how special this whole process has been. From what I understand, most people shop nearly 100 homes and usually have at least a couple of deals fall apart before they get something close to what they want. This is what I've been told, but hasn't been our experience so far. After looking at no more than a dozen houses we fell in love with the single one we put an offer in on. Then, from what I'm told, the truly unique happened. Our offer was accepted over that of a cash offer.
Hmm, okay, doesn't mean much to me, but as I've been thoroughly lectured about the subject, this just doesn't happen in this day and age. If someone has the chance to "take the money and run" that's what they are "supposed" to do. Well, things are at a point where we still have a few weeks before we close, but thanks to our superagent and the support of our family, we are well on our way to owning our first home and it is quite exciting and humbling all the same.
Anyway, enough gobbledy goop for a day. Off to tackle this day and try to pretend something mesmerizing will happen so that I can write about that tomorrow or something. If not, I'll just share the fascinating world of quadratic functions.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Loss
On my way out the door from work yesterday my boss mentioned a former colleague who had suddenly lost her husband. To be honest, when I worked with this woman, I was indifferent about her, sometimes annoyed by her, but overall she was a nice enough person.
But for some reason I began to think about it more as I drove home. I inquired my subconscious as to why I was feeling a welling of worry about this. Granted, we've got the stress of trying to buy a new home right now, things haven't been fantastic at work (but that's education in Cali anyway, right?) and I've got a math test tonight that deals with matrices to my surprise, the Matrix is not just a movie. (Big shout out to Cramer and his/her rule, btw). So, like I said in a previous post, I've been compartmentalizing, I know it wasn't life bothering me, it was this event specifically and it finally clicked. As we are human, we proclaim to serve our Lord, our community, our school, our job, our friends and family, but really, we are also born of human nature and serve the Id, or to put it more bluntly, we look out for ourselves and how things might affect us individually.
That's where this came back around for me, I wasn't so much grieving the loss of a man who I never met, but I was grieving the idea of what that might one day mean to me in my life. See, this woman who lost her husband lost everything. From what I understand he was the rock in her life, he was the financial supporter, the bill payer, the hand holder during a needle prick, the dog poop picker upper. His goal was to be the protector of all things for his wife and now suddenly he was wiped away in one swift stroke.
It would be easy to insert my own life and fears here, but that was not really what I thought about. Lisa and I have a nicely rooted 50/50 relationship. As disparaging as it is to think about losing her (or her me) I know that we would both be able to function through the pain and loss and I actually owe a lot of that to Lisa. But here, in this time, driving home, I was thinking about my parents and their path to mortality.
My mom has been battling low level health problems for a number of years, culminating in the reduction of her quality of breathing. There have been, over the years, tests and re-tests resulting in some thought of what might be ailing her. But just in recent weeks doctors have been comfortable to say that she is in the beginning stages of battling scleroderma. I won't go to extravagent lengths to describe what it is, but it is an immuno-deficiency disease that usually takes one of two forms; it either attacks you internally or externally. Externally, it tightens and hardens the skin, making things uncomfortable and sometime painful, but thankfully, it is a condition that one can live with for years upon years. Internally, it goes after the organs and most typically will manifest itself by producing collagen in organs like the lungs or kidneys. Obviously, this eventually leads to death as the organs will eventually fail.
And unfortunately, my mother seems to be afflicted with the internal form. But on the upside, much like HIV and AIDS, one can live for a number of years with special diet and careful consideration for how they live their life. But that scratching, worrying, building fear that was growing during that drive was for my father.
My mom has been that rock for my dad. A brief history on them reads like this: high school sweethearts that bought into the American dream, got a house, had a single child and started to live happily ever after. Where things get all Tales of Grimm-like is when my dad became addicted to alcohol and would change from the good Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. Years of verbal and borderline physical abuse lead to a break in our household. My mom filed for divorce and moved to Seattle. My dad finally hit rock bottom when he realized all that he lost.
He began a long road to recovery, one he still battles to this day. But I can happily report that my mom took him back in and I was asked by my father to be the best man at their second wedding; a (hopefully no more than) once in a lifetime opportunity. And this is exactly has me so apprehensive. What happens if my mom passes before my dad? She has been his life, his rock, his everything.
I worry that he won't be motivated to live for himself without her, but then I feel guilty wondering that because he has brought himself back from down such a deep hole, what's to say he wouldn't be able to draw upon that strength? So am I not giving him enough credit?
No matter the problem, whether storms are on the horizon or not, I do know with clarity, what it means to appreciate all that I have in my life right now and all I can do is honor myself and my loved ones by taking full of advantage of that life in this moment.
Is that living for the Id, or living for the loss?
But for some reason I began to think about it more as I drove home. I inquired my subconscious as to why I was feeling a welling of worry about this. Granted, we've got the stress of trying to buy a new home right now, things haven't been fantastic at work (but that's education in Cali anyway, right?) and I've got a math test tonight that deals with matrices to my surprise, the Matrix is not just a movie. (Big shout out to Cramer and his/her rule, btw). So, like I said in a previous post, I've been compartmentalizing, I know it wasn't life bothering me, it was this event specifically and it finally clicked. As we are human, we proclaim to serve our Lord, our community, our school, our job, our friends and family, but really, we are also born of human nature and serve the Id, or to put it more bluntly, we look out for ourselves and how things might affect us individually.
That's where this came back around for me, I wasn't so much grieving the loss of a man who I never met, but I was grieving the idea of what that might one day mean to me in my life. See, this woman who lost her husband lost everything. From what I understand he was the rock in her life, he was the financial supporter, the bill payer, the hand holder during a needle prick, the dog poop picker upper. His goal was to be the protector of all things for his wife and now suddenly he was wiped away in one swift stroke.
It would be easy to insert my own life and fears here, but that was not really what I thought about. Lisa and I have a nicely rooted 50/50 relationship. As disparaging as it is to think about losing her (or her me) I know that we would both be able to function through the pain and loss and I actually owe a lot of that to Lisa. But here, in this time, driving home, I was thinking about my parents and their path to mortality.
My mom has been battling low level health problems for a number of years, culminating in the reduction of her quality of breathing. There have been, over the years, tests and re-tests resulting in some thought of what might be ailing her. But just in recent weeks doctors have been comfortable to say that she is in the beginning stages of battling scleroderma. I won't go to extravagent lengths to describe what it is, but it is an immuno-deficiency disease that usually takes one of two forms; it either attacks you internally or externally. Externally, it tightens and hardens the skin, making things uncomfortable and sometime painful, but thankfully, it is a condition that one can live with for years upon years. Internally, it goes after the organs and most typically will manifest itself by producing collagen in organs like the lungs or kidneys. Obviously, this eventually leads to death as the organs will eventually fail.
And unfortunately, my mother seems to be afflicted with the internal form. But on the upside, much like HIV and AIDS, one can live for a number of years with special diet and careful consideration for how they live their life. But that scratching, worrying, building fear that was growing during that drive was for my father.
My mom has been that rock for my dad. A brief history on them reads like this: high school sweethearts that bought into the American dream, got a house, had a single child and started to live happily ever after. Where things get all Tales of Grimm-like is when my dad became addicted to alcohol and would change from the good Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. Years of verbal and borderline physical abuse lead to a break in our household. My mom filed for divorce and moved to Seattle. My dad finally hit rock bottom when he realized all that he lost.
He began a long road to recovery, one he still battles to this day. But I can happily report that my mom took him back in and I was asked by my father to be the best man at their second wedding; a (hopefully no more than) once in a lifetime opportunity. And this is exactly has me so apprehensive. What happens if my mom passes before my dad? She has been his life, his rock, his everything.
I worry that he won't be motivated to live for himself without her, but then I feel guilty wondering that because he has brought himself back from down such a deep hole, what's to say he wouldn't be able to draw upon that strength? So am I not giving him enough credit?
No matter the problem, whether storms are on the horizon or not, I do know with clarity, what it means to appreciate all that I have in my life right now and all I can do is honor myself and my loved ones by taking full of advantage of that life in this moment.
Is that living for the Id, or living for the loss?
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Potpourri
-If you can walk, you can dance; if you can talk, you can sing...
Zimbabwean proverb
Everyone has the magic in them to create anything they want, or maybe in a less romantic sense, we all have the biology in us to create anything we want. Either way, my brain is firing on many different cylinders right now, not necessarily in unison either, so I thought it best to title this Potpourri. It's got a little bit of everything and also kind of smells good but stinks all at the same time.
Hold please...
Thanks for waiting, I know that doesn't really translate in reading, but I had to go get a beer. It's been one of those days, weeks, decades. It all comes to a head every now and again with a compatriot of mine at work; see he is a man of age only in a physical nature. In terms of mental and emotional age, he quite literally equals that of a 10 year old boy. I could deal with that if it meant I had the upside of dealing with a 10 year old boy. You know, things like conversations about baseball, or maybe that new car that looks really cool, or maybe about how Star Wars is now in theaters in 3-D. But unfortunately, I don't get the wide-eyed side of a 10 year old, I get the angry, it's never my fault, stubborn boy. Today's example: we had custodial products that needed to be out at the sites. He did a great job getting it out, what he didn't tell me is that he allocated product wrong and ended up bringing back and hiding an overage in the warehouse. Only after being prompted about it did he come clean and when I asked where those items were supposed to be delivered, he didn't know. His solution was to wait for people to call and complain about their shortages. But if I had done a better job about making clear what needed to happen, then he wouldn't have made mistakes.
Hmm, he had printed forms denoting which site was supposed to receive what quantities of each item. Site A gets: three cases toilet paper, four gallons of disinfectant, etc. Don't know if I could have made it much clearer. My bad.
This leads me to wisecracks that usually find their way to Facebook. Today's was a link of an old 70's song, "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" by Leo Sayer, with my tagline noting to change the word 'dancing' to 'drinking'. What I forgot is that this is the first post my newest friend has seen, my mom. She doesn't usually get to see my fully sarcastic side, so that means I'll be making a call to her after I wrap this post up to reassure her that I am not going to end up in a stinking stupor of drunkeness, risking life and limb passed out in the gutter in front of my house, partially naked.
But my frustration melts away into something of apprehensive joy (unless that is an oxymoron). Despite that upcoming eviction, Lisa and I have been pre-approved to buy a house and have begun actively hunting. There's some nice stuff out there, some we can potentially afford and others that are just nice to walk through and sample the cookies (literal cookies for you naughty thinkers). But I stop and wonder sometimes as we are stopped and wandering through these homes, do other people feel this exhilarating fear that we do? I mean, of course I know the answer, sure, of course they do. Lisa and I are not so unique to the rest of the world that we are the only ones freaking out about buying a house, but man, it's scary stuff. We obsess at the grocery store so as not to pick a can of corn that is dented, so what he hell do I do if I buy a house that has a leaky roof?!
Then again, that's the fun of it all isn't it? We don't really think about walking on the tight rope until we look down and see no net below us. That's when we get scared and that's when everything goes sideways. But realizing we are on the tightrope doesn't have to be a bad thing. It'll make my balance better and worst case scenario, I don't think there are rules for walking a tightrope, I'll slink across by any means necessary. And then that brings me back to my coworker, I can't be the only one who deals with a guy like that. Maybe we in this world are all a lot more alike than we sometimes realize. Blame the media, blame the neighbors, blame the dog, blame yourself, shoot, blame me (my coworker does). We see things, we disseminate the information of what we see and we either use it or discard it. I'm a big believer in events having meaning, so if nothing else, these days are lessons in patience and seeing the bigger picture I guess. Hopefully it'll result in a home that I can hang a picture while eating cookies and having a beer ; )
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