Imagination

Yes, I opened a blog for these notes but it is such a beautiful day that I am out here in back, enjoying the mild temperature and soft breeze. We have some beautiful cardinal birds in our yard/neighborhood and they are always a joy to see. The grass is dark green.

I’ve been reporting about mom in the blog and will expand on her condition some here. She is hanging on buy a thread. I thought sure, when I spontaneously awoke at 3:19 am, that’ she’d gone. I went back to see her just a few minutes before and when I went back to bed I thought; was she breathing? Then I was convinced that she wasn’t. All sorts of fantasies ran through my mind but then at 4 am she called out; she needed the potty. My imagination had been running amok.

This is not a new thing; I have often been involved in situations where it ran wild; and for many years. It happened/s so often that I discount it most of the time. These flights of fancy are often books by s.o. else. Most stories are single source and follow a thread, even if hidden, all the way through. Anyway, I no longer get stampeded.

Just now I had to stoop writing and tend to mom, who is constipated from not enough fluid, not enough food, and then the vicodin. She said, “Can’t you just shoot me?” Well, no. For whatever reason she isn’t finished with this lifetime yet; there must be s.t. left for her to do, some influence on s.o. One has to believe that we are all here for a purpose.

In a blog I said I was looking for the labyrinth into which I would go. Wending through one is what we do and more than one at a time. I may have found it with mom. She is my purpose a la moment. I have to keep my schedule free for her, to answer her calls, get her up and down, feed her, and encourage her. As long as she’s alive, she gets my time.

I am not going to project anything about Carola; she is a saint the way she is pitching in. Yet her memory is slipping and it is more and more noticed. I can’t allow my imagination to get carried away on her. I’ll deal with whatever when the time comes. Just like a horse on a x-country trial; he has to decide each obstacle as he comes to it.

The blogs are fun. I do them in word then add the paragraph html controls and copy them to the editor. I have found that 1000 words minimum and 1050 max is a good length. It is 33 of these lines at 8 per x 4. It amounts to 1 ½ pages of mss so a 250 page book would be about 160 or so blogs. That’s about 6 months at one per day. That same book would be 10 notebooks, more or less.

I read what I write and often don’t like it very much. It can sound stilted, out of date, cold, and impersonal. My writing moods change often. My short stories sound more like newspaper reports. I recall a version of The Elephant Man that was written in this clinical style. I liked it, although I doubt if anyone else did. It was written to convey the story and nil else; no color. It appealed to me because I am a knowledge seeker and care less about the style side of things. This is why texts, lectures, and analyses are more interesting than novels and such. Yet poetry is another thing entirely. I like to write it and read it.

In the case of poetry it is because it is puzzling. IOW it can be interpreted on different levels, at different times, by different readers and even the same reader. No one, not even the writer has all the answers.

We watched home videos of Sean, Mk, etc last night. I am enthralled by my image and my voice. I started out somewhat critical of it but got over that soon enough. I am big, resonant, and have a presence. I’ve got about 10 to 15 years left in me if I keep myself. Yet as long as Mom’s here, I have to be like one of the wise virgins and keep my lamp trimmed and filled with oil. IOW keep my arms, legs, torso, and heart strong and deepen my reservoirs of psychic and physical energy. Plus take advantage of any opportunity to perform.

One can’t go back. The time vector has no negative aspect. Events are recorded but cannot be altered except by the chicanery of the historians. Certainly the historian within remembers it just the way it went down.

It is important to be getting s.t. positive accomplished in whatever situation one is in. The choice of actions to take is personal. There are considerations but bottom-line it is up to me. This is where all the influences on behavior come into play. A choice has to be made, it is then made, and with the consequences one must deal. This is why I said previously that approval/ disapproval is a primary consideration for/of me/mine. Often I think it is the first one. Then other factors are evaluated. It is sort of an emotional response thing. And when I say first, it is even ahead of legal, moral, and ethical, or can be, if I am not aware.

I don’t think I am a special case in this way. Some of us learn from experience and make the better choices. I have, in the past, done for approval, lost for approval, kept quiet for it, etc, etc. It is for me, and I am the center of my universe, one of the most powerful of motivations.

I want to keep the house and yard nice, why? My first blush was for approval and second was to maintain the resale value; this is more rational. But the former is/was my primary motivation. I didn’t want any one pointing out flaws. S.t. tells me I am like a barking dog that barks but doesn’t know why. I dream, scheme, plot, and plan but get nowhere; I am in nowhere KY.

An Odd Assortment of Thoughts

As is the case every Sunday, I am sitting down to plan out my week. This is going to be a significant week due to “Passing the Gavel” from me to the new president of the Rotary Club of East Louisville Sunrise. Rarely have I prepared as well for a presentation that was not work related. I’m not hide-bound into the program but will approach the affair with calm equanimity. It would not be productive to be too controlling.

There were other things planned for the week, such as a trip to Virginia but we have the problem of mom being down at the moment. I am staying loose on all other commitments and can see that this is the wisest thing to do. I’ve added a daily to my list, “Guarding against stupid mistakes, I am vigilant.” And I added this one after I noticed mom with a black eye because her spectacle nose piece pressed in on her when I helped her off the pot; but this goes further than that, it requires me to be circumspect about everything that is happening around me. It is in the same vein as being awake, being aware, and now being vigilant. I suppose they are all birds of a feather.

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We watched The Reader last night and once I got beyond it being Kate Winslet and realizing her character, the story took on a whole different dimension. She isn’t the dear sweet movie star but rather a brutish, illiterate, myopic character who sees everything from the immediate effect on her. This included seducing the young Michael, allowing 300 women to burn to death in a locked barn when she had the key, and refusing to admit that she couldn’t read or write. She would have been in her very early twenties at the time of her employment as a guard at the concentration camp. At her trial in 1960 something, she gave clues to her lack of discernment beyond instructions given to her by superiors or by the system.

Then there was the male character, Michael, who was a self-pitying sort who couldn’t get over his guilt at being seduced by a woman about twenty years his senior. Her tombstone said born 1922 and the seduction occurred in 1958, she would have been 36 and he sixteen. Personally I think he over reacted to what could have been a celebratory occurrence in a young man’s life. There was a sexual interlude and they didn’t get caught. So, I suppose it could have occurred as it was written. But the character flaw of his being unable/unwilling to help her when he could have is hard to understand except to realize that he represented the youth of Germany after the war, and found that they were of a nation that had killed 6 million people and unable to deal with it.

Had the roles been reversed, an older man seducing a young woman, I could see the possibility of guilt carrying forward as it did in this character. But then there are many young women who would likewise have seen it as a nice enough experience as long as there was no pregnancy involved.

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There is a mood among people these days that black Americans deserve/ should get/ need/ must have/ an apology on the part of the government that their American forefathers were enslaved. Then there are those who take it further and say they deserve some compensation for their lost wages during the time of enslavement.

It all seems ridiculous to me. Those that profited are dead. Those that suffered are dead. The abuses of the carpet baggers and scoundrels after the Civil war evoked repressive atrocities on the blacks in order to preserve the influence of the educated, which is not a euphemism for white but at that time the whites were educated and the blacks not. These disempowering devices were put in place and remained so until the 1960’s. I think it is this that the blacks are justifiably mad about. There are many alive today who suffered at the hands of the white power structure in the south; for them I say, go get ‘em but I don’t think the United States government is liable now for slavery.

Wouldn’t it be something if there was a constitutional amendment about life as it refers to fetuses? Then all the aborted fetuses could band together and sue the government for their being killed. Only there are no survivors in this. Perhaps the brothers and sisters of those killed could sue for damages. A law changes and then all who are/were/could have been affected by the circumstances that became unlawful go back and sue for damages? Is this how it works? There is the ex post facto limitation but I honestly don’t know if it applies in civil cases.

To require the American government to pay people for their predecessors being enslaved is stretching the point quite a bit. The law changed and slavery was abolished. The families of the vast majority of Americans today, who pay taxes and whose taxes would be used to pay such repatriations, weren’t even here when at the time of slavery. None of the blacks for whom compensation is sought are alive and besides that, many blacks come from forefathers who came to this country after that time.

I see it as another attention getting device to call attention to what happened over 100 years ago. Like some people who dwell on the holocaust and cant’ get past it, so too do these bleeding hearts either feel guilty, or want the pity that they feel they deserve, and then there's the possibility of getting some money. In this litigious society everyone seems to be looking for the gotcha on someone else. I say you can’t go back and get damages for something that happened to someone else.

There are those who profited from extorting the Jews in Germany during the Third Reich. I have my suspicions about some people who started with less than nothing, were intelligent, and worked hard but this alone can’t explain their apparent wealth; but there is no recovery for the families of those extorted.

Incidental Life

It is Saturday and the next day in a turbulent time. Mom slipped on the bathroom floor and went down at 4am on Wednesday. We went back to her area to find her on her butt and elbows on the floor. This has affected her left knee more than anything else and for good reason. She broke that knee in 1986 and it never healed properly. Dr. O’Brien remarked about the misalignment on more than one occasion. The x-ray showed a hollowed out place at the top of the knob at the knee-end of the lower leg bone; the bone doctor said there was fluid in the joint as well but not a large amount and not a serious consideration. The fall, in my opinion, exacerbated an old situation.

But this is not the big problem; she is psychologically down in the dumps. Not at all responsive; refused food for two days and this morning ate a small bowl of oatmeal; but at noon she ate almost nothing. She shows glimmers of humor, but it is forced. She says nothing and feels worse; when I reminded her that our favorite program was on tonight she said, “I don’t care.” Carola and I are sitting with her every moment, one or the other of us is with her, in the room, chattering away with her, trying to break her out of her gloom but she’s persisting. She’s been like this before but not to this extreme.

She is sensitive to her being here this I know this from her behavior and her remarks on certain holidays when we tell her we love her and her being here. Then we had to cancel our trip to Virginia and Barb and Joe’s visit here to be with her. She may be feeling bad, blaming herself for causing a lot of trouble for everyone. Her spirit seems broken.

I’m not sure what to do. I could call a priest but that may send a completely wrong signal to her. She did so for my Grandpa Lina and my grandmother blamed mom for doing him in. Bob Mueller may be a good person to whom to talk. He works at Hosparus and they deal in these types of situations. Ed Causey may likewise be a person from whom to get some advice. Yes, there are some ideas here that may be worth following.

The whole thing is disturbing to me because I don’t know for sure what is going on. I remember when her leg was hurt last time that she prayed incessantly and I suspected she was praying to die. I remember thinking that she was going to wear out that rosary. Then slowly it got better and better until she was her old self again, no pun intended. I can only hope that this one is likewise a recoverable situation.

It is curious that it is always her left leg. A dog bit her, I don’t know the date anymore, and the first doctor to see her was incompetent; luckily the second one saved her leg with quick action and a skin graft from her thigh. Then she was putting up the storm windows at 8572 Oriole Avenue when the wind caught one and twisted her around. That was 1986 because we were in from Houston for Thanksgiving, and it happened in October. She sat around for the many weeks it took to heal and that idleness, along with her medical history, led to the onset of her first set of back fractures when she picked up a heavy tray of ham at Pop’s 80th birthday party in 1987.

All was quiet until earlier this year when she fell in her room. She hit her head on the marble top table and messed up her left leg. She had to have stitches in her head and fluid built up in that leg and an infection set in; that was dicey but we finally got it cleared up.

Then one day early this year, she called to me; her walker had jammed under her recliner foot rest. I reached down, pulled up on the footrest, and removed the walker. When I let go of it, her leg was crushed between the side of the chair and the footrest. No broken bones but the tissue around the lower leg was completely traumatized and it took weeks for it to get back to normal. We had her in several times because we feared infection like a previous time but the doctor prevented it with antibiotics; it healed.

Starting just a few weeks ago, she complained about that leg/knee bothering her quite a bit. She walked to the kitchen from her room several times a day, usually thrice, and her steps were about three inches at a time. Once in a while she would call for the chair because it just was too painful to walk; then the fall the other night.

Another problem is her skeleton above her waist. It is all melted together and like soft wax is settling down onto her hips. She’s lost about 8 inches of height from five feet six inches. She has almost no upper body and a huge bulge in her back where the spine is fused into a mass of bone. Dr. O’Brien’s office has a full skeletal x-ray and I saw when they were taken. Her lungs and organs are all smashed into a small volume of body cavity but somehow she keeps functioning. Her organs seem to operating just fine, her breathing is shallow, her heart rate is slow, always has been and it runs in the family with me and Theresa, and her blood pressure is absolutely normal, the envy of some nurses who take a reading. But now she has all but stopped eating and I’m worried. She may be at the end of a long and interesting life; yet I think that she will pull through this, she will get her will power back, her will to live, and we’ll be back at the table yakking away again soon. Then in December we'll celebrate her 101st.

Can't Talk Right Now

Much of my time is spent observing myself, as if from an outside position to gauge my activities, appearance, and mien. Even with this I’m sure that what others see has little or no resemblance to what think I see. In fact, every other person who notices me, and there may be few who do, has his or her own opinion of what they see. And, like me, their opinion is influenced by how they are feeling about themselves at the moment, how the emotional impact of others’ reactions to them is lingering, and the many other things that color their judgment at that particular instant. But all of this is an annoying aside because what others think of me only matters at the time of formal notice to either interact, voice an opinion, make a selection, applaud (or boo), or cast a ballot.

The real matter of concern is how I feel about myself; how objectively I am observing me. It is only through objective self-observation that a true picture of who I am begins to emerge, like the positive print immersed in chemicals in a photo lab. One can only strive to have the development complete before this particular phase/age of the being remains unfinished. With an objective understanding of himself one can develop because he is not hindered with self-doubt.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about why people, including me, act/behave in one way or another. There is a list of reasons that generally range from avoiding death to experiencing euphoria as the ends of a continuum. There are two that are prominent for me, and I suppose lots of other people: (1) receiving approval and (2) avoiding disapproval.

When I think about these two I can reason their source, i.e. the influence of people to whom I gave deference as I grew out of childhood. The lingering emotional need for approval has a great deal of influence over what I say and do. It hasn’t been such a bad thing; I seem to be a respected member of the community. The need to get approval or avoid disapproval is always a factor in what I do. They are, however, often the primary factors and cause me to fail to achieve some goal or another, especially in competition.

This is interesting because it is an aspect of my behavior that is only now coming through the mist. There are two major sports for me, golf and pool. I have a certain level of skill in both of these and have performed brilliantly in each from time to time. Yet there are those who will offer me suggestions/advice on how to do this or that and it has an effect on my overall performance. I seem to give up my autonomy in the game and become subordinate to the “instructor.” While his advice may be good for this particular instance, taking that advice usurps my control over me and my game. It does this because I have an emotional, and therefore irrational, response to the interruption of my thought. This causes me to lose control of my game. The response that I have is derived from the way my father overpowered me emotionally as I was growing up. An objective response would allow me to get back on my own track for the game after this interruption instead of being derailed. Thank you for this insight.

A second observation that is only now coming into focus is the high level of emotional repression that is in place in me. When David Hershberg died, I could only sit with his wife Roberta and could not speak. I was fond of David and every attempt at saying something was stifled by a swelling of my throat in preparation for breaking down into uncontrolled crying. On every occasion when I am faced with the pitiful condition of my mother and her brave acceptance of her state and the way she perseveres through adversity, the same welling up of emotion occurs. This has been happening for 30 years, since I became aware of her mortality. Whenever I am faced with a situation that is near and dear to my heart, I have this swelling of emotion that occurs. It happens in patriotic, family, competitive, and affectionate situations.

Quite the opposite occurs in confrontational situations. One extreme occasion was on a dark, isolated two lane, road on the way from Charles De Gaul airport one night. I was driving along; the only other car on the road came towards me, blinking his lights furiously. I stopped my car, got out, and exhibited an aggressive posture towards the driver and only occupant. He explained, in French that I could barely understand, that my headlights were out of adjustment. That could have been a life threatening confrontation but I didn’t seem to care; I was on the offense. This happens often in relationships, with acquaintances, business dealings, and even after observing others with whom I have only a causal relationship, over-the- counter.

So what I am seeing is highly emotional responses to love and hate situations and a lack of objectivity in dealing with them. There doesn’t seem to be a mechanism in my psyche for dealing with extremes on this line. No amount of “intellectualizing” seems to overcome my emphatic and extreme reactions to these polar situations. My only salvation is to separate from them, either by not responding, as in not attempting to speak, or by quitting the field before I do something irreparable; although sometimes, as in the back road incident, I go on the offensive without reflection.

I recite a daily, “Realizing that emotional responses are irrational, I am more objective.” It is my hope that over time this will become ingrained in my psyche and allow me to express deep feelings and react more reasonably in confrontational situations. This and self observation will have its effect eventually. They seem to be my only recourse.

Notes on Living a Long Time

This is a classic example of sitting down to write without having a clue as to about what. While to some readers it may seem silly, to me, who has done this often and with good personal results, it is a way of getting the stream started. It is 9 am and breakfast is over. We were awakened by calls from mom’s room at 4 am and went back to find her on the bathroom floor. She said later that her knees gave way, she didn’t fall. Now she is sitting in the kitchen in a seemingly down mood. It is understandable since she is in a time of life that has no experience with which to compare; she’s over 100 years old.

I’ve watched her age the past 11 years and close-hand for the past 7 of them. It is a slow and gradual deterioration of her ears, eyes, and muscles but not her mind. Whereas some people exhibit signs of Alzheimer’s disease, not mom; she is just as sharp as ever, a little slower here and there, but generally just as good. She has little or nothing to do all day except sit; often she sleeps, often the TV is on but she isn’t paying much attention to it. Anyone with the ability to see, hear, and move would be going a little crazy for lack of s.t. to do. Every remark is answered by “Huh?” Sometimes she gives a stock answer, such as “Yeah” or “Oh yes” or similar and I catch it and ask if she heard me and she smiles and says, “No.” Then I must shout at her for her to hear. She refuses to wear hearing aids, of which she has two sets.

Her eyes are almost gone, she has macular degeneration, but there is some macula remaining because she can see in certain directions but winds up feeling around in front of her for napkin, knife, fork, or water glass. She has completely given up on the newspaper, whereas in the past she did the jumble and read the comics. Books and papers are of no value whatsoever. When she goes to the eye doctor, who has kept her glaucoma in remission with expensive eye drops, she can barely read the E at the top of the chart. The last time was the same as the previous several, we go every 6 months, and Dr. Huntington says there’s nothing to be done other than controlling the glaucoma.

Then there’s the issue with her muscles. Here I have an opinion, which only I can have. It seems to me that her adamant refusal to do even the most elemental exercises for arms, legs, torso, and heart have led to this degradation of her musculature to where it takes two hands to pass a plate at the table. She has no muscle tissue left in her arms and her body has atrophied to the point of minimal muscle necessary to hold her together. Her legs are likewise weak and, therefore, her knees, hips and ankles are all at risk due to a lack of supporting muscle.

This can/could have been avoided had she allowed me to work with her to do the exercises that the vocational and physical therapy visits prescribed. She did them for a short time then refused. Now the she’s paying the price because there is no support and she doesn’t have strength enough to maintain herself. And we are likewise put at an extreme disadvantage because now she has to be lifted on and off the bed, chair, and pot. I don’t know what we’re going to do about bathing, this is all new and we’ll have to work it out.

So what does this all mean to me? Aside from taking care of her, which “I said I would so I quess I’m stuck with it,” Sean Kerrigan 2008, there are lessons to be learned here that will keep me going for the long haul. (1) It is prudent of me to think in terms of living to be as old as my mother even if I get killed tomorrow. (2) Stick to my daily, “Keeping my heart, torso, arms, and legs strong; I participate.” (3) Deepen my reserves of physical and psychic energy. And (4) be as independent as possible for as long as possible but not stubborn to the point of not getting help when it is needed.

This last point is one to keep in mind as we go forward with mom. There will come a time when she will have to be seen by healthcare pros, who can assess her needs and make recommendations for support; it may be a few days until we make this contact. It may also be necessary to postpone our trip to VA due to this latest development and let the situation develop over time. It wouldn’t be fair to get sister Barbara involved other than to keep her informed. She and Joe are slated to come up one week from today.

I don’t fault mom for her condition, I simply see it as being somewhat avoidable with some daily exercises. I will continue mine as I have for the past several years (35.) They keep me flexible, able to handle my own weight, and do stuff like yard work, golf, hiking, and maybe even riding, if I ever get over to the park. Her decision was not to do this and now she and we are suffering the consequences. Yet her attitude towards it all her life is what gave her the reserve strength to make it to this age. She worked herself hard; lifting, climbing, carrying, pushing, and walking. It has taken this long to work through those reserves. She’s there now, running on empty.

And now I turn a little attention to my wife who is on the same path as mom. She eschews regular exertion of any kind and mark my words in fifteen years she will fall apart. Her organs are already showing signs of distress; she’s on several medications for symptoms that would go away if she exerted herself, even if only walking. But the wrath of a woman who simply won’t be cowed erupts every time it is mentioned. So it goes.

Father's Day

This is Father’s day. It is only mentioned because it gives a sort of qualification to the day, set’s it apart from other days. Every day should be a celebration and made special, apart from any other day, memorable because it is an event in this lifetime. Most days are like this and, for me anyway, worthy of recording their occurrence in a log.

I listen to a lot of erudite stuff; Great Courses, classical literature, poems, essays and the like and I am becoming more and more aware of my own insignificance in the grand scheme of things and admit that I am envious of the fame and notoriety that some have achieved in our history; and yet relieved that when I go about the city I am not set upon by others. I want to be famous but at the same time want to be anonymous. It is plain to see that fame is a double edged sword.

The population seems to have an insatiable appetite for stories about those whom we know, even if only from afar. The tabloid press industry has developed to satisfy this appetite. This phenomenon exists because of curiosity and unfulfilled personal relationships. Why would anyone want to enter this Roman forum? Oscar Wilde quipped: “The two biggest disappointments in life are not getting what you wanted and getting it.” Thus he recognized that dissatisfaction is a basic to human nature; of course it is.

A good friend of mine wended his way around his elbow to finally introduce the main speaker after dinner recently. The speaker, a contemporary of my friend and likewise a scholar, thanked him for for the hyperbolic introduction. For some reason I didn’t think this was all that complementary. I see that I too am hyperbolic. Most of my writing, as evidenced by the many notebooks that I have filled, is just that; hyperbolic. Often I start on one subject and wend my way around my elbow to reach a whole ‘nother subject by the time my 1000 words are writ.

If this is a criticism, I say so what. Somewhere in here there is an issue with which I am dealing and the only way to get it out is to start clicking away. Eventually it surfaces and gets full shrift. I bring this up because my last entry started one way and wound up talking about hierarchies.

At least that’s how I recall it and I am not in the habit of reading past entries immediately before writing current. The reasoning for all of this, the hyperbole, the ignoring of previous entries for the present, and even this explanation, is to recognize that these pages are more for me than for anyone else. They are my counselor, my analyst. Just as when one goes to see his analyst he starts in one place and winds up in another, so do I on these pages. It harkens back to my basic tenet that one must start from where he is.

This begs the question, where am I? I am in sloth. In the work, there are several states in which one may find himself: sloth, tramp, lunatic, fool and probably some others; all the while seeking to be a Good Householder. Sloth is one where I find myself often and it can be defined as not doing.

For me doing and not doing is related more to the social source content of personae than any other aspect. I know from experience that if contact is to be made, things to be done, things to be followed with enthusiasm by others who have some minor stake in the action; it is up to me to generate that enthusiasm, to keep the ball going from player to player as we attempt to score; yet I am like a newspaper thrown on the fire, i.e. not a log. I flare up with some bright ideas and then wind up in a pillar of smoke, having lost my spark.

The pattern repeats itself often enough and most recently in my term as president of the Rotary Club of East Louisville Sunrise. I am winding up my term of office and don’t feel that I did a very good job of keeping the club engaged. The meetings went well enough but my contacts between meetings, my prodding and urging, my follow-up with committees, fund raising and all the aspects of the club were mediocre; just enough to be able to say that we did s.t. and the result was second place in the district when the club had hopes of once again being first.

A lot of my retraction is due to my perception of others’ attitudes and my hypersensitivity to what I think is happening in their hearts and minds; and not just the club but people with whom I generally associate. I tend to read in the worst regarding motives and sentiments when others could care less. This misogynistic tendency of mine keeps cropping up like weeds in the lawn.

Others have similar tendencies and proclivities, which is why the principles for interacting with others as listed by Dale Carnegie are so important. I have a daily that says, “Internalizing the human relations principles, I am more likable.” And it is important to internalize them so that one doesn’t come across as a phony. This BTW is a common pitfall of those who are less than sincere. Another daily, “Being less cynical and judgmental, I am happier,” supports the first and avoids the phoniness that often creeps in.

This insecurity of mine is what comes out as sloth, inactivity where activity is not required. By saying it this way, I am recognizing the difference between handling problems, even those created by me for me, and addressing opportunities. It is one thing to throw the ball and another to catch it. It is when I have the ball and don’t put it into play that it is sloth and this is a major sin.

Hierarchies

No matter where you are going, you must start from here. This is s.t. with which everyone will agree in theory and even principle but violate without thinking when they begin talking. Everything we say and do is couched in how we process and store life experiences. The corollary to this, when you’ve been everywhere on Earth you will be right back where you started; while this is true, we don’t have to go full sphere in our travels; IOW we can stop and stay at any place along the way.

One of the beautiful things about our mind is that it isn’t spherical but universal, i.e. it is boundless like the universe. The farther we go the more there is to discover out to infinity. The evolution of our thinking in terms of physics, for example, continues to go through advancing theories; each supplanting the last and we still haven’t arrived at the truth.

Richard P. Feynman, a winner of the Nobel prize in physics, adhered to the belief in science that in order for s.t. to be true, it has to be observed and proven through repeatable experiments. While this is a noble statement it doesn’t address what I am sure he realized, that imagination is the starting point and everything else is a by-product of it.

It is also not as much fun as believing in ghosts; saints, re- incarnation, ascension, assumption, heaven and hell. There aren’t many things, if any, in religion that will stand the test of the scientific method. Priests and others who rely on the donations of the faithful for their daily bread will tell you that it requires faith; that certain beliefs are from inspired sources; that at least one man is infallible. When one looks at it through the cold eyes of everyday experiences, it goes quickly into the pigeon hole labeled preposterous.

Religions, and here I am being all inclusive, give people a roadmap for making behavioral decisions. It became clear to me, upon doing my own research, that one can reach conclusions that support legal, ethical, and moral behavior without the benefit of a Bible, Koran, or other “inspired” text. Yet religion gives those who are mentally lazy, careless, or otherwise occupied, a convenient source of “good” behavior and doesn’t require much personal involvement. And to this extent religions are important because many/most people have more to do than concern themselves with learning the what’s and whys of these areas of their life; sort of like using a calculator instead of learning to take a square root. You get the right answer either way, as long as your calculator is functioning properly. One could retort that a person can make a mistake doing a square root calculation as well but this is the learning experience, not abdication.

The problem is when religion (the calculator) takes over and starts telling you what to think and do. The priests, et al, often go out of bounds in their preaching and interpretations and we get ridiculous dogmas, or an inappropriate jihad mentality. This is not a unique or uncommon phenomenon; it has been happening since we gathered together in groups larger than family. A self-perpetuating autocratic hierarchy develops and it has to be supported by the rank and file, sort of like governemnt and taxes, only the constitution that governs this hierarchy is not subject to question, amendment, or interpretation without it being that of the hierarchy; and woe to him/her that may disagree, to wit Galileo or the victims of the Inquisition. There are plenty of examples in Islam and other religions who have a governing hierarchy.

This autocratic hierarchy phenomenon is strictly a human, i.e. not inspired by spiritual forces, and can be seen in any large organization. Companies, churches, service clubs, brotherhoods, sororities, and philanthropic organizations, all have hierarchies. Those who aspire to leadership in these hierarchies are those who satisfying their vanity as job one. These govern by fiat and pronounce what’s good and not so for the membership. Members OTOH are following some set basic principles and meeting their need to belong to social groups and couldn’t care less about the pronouncements of the hierarchy. They are only affected when the collection basket comes around.

The hierarchy invent all sorts of important sounding issues to keep their jobs; to keep the donations flowing so they can feed their egos while the basic tenets upon which the organization is founded are rendered unimportant because they are easily understood and there is, in fact, no need for the hierarchy. Witness the end of the aristrocratic hierachy with the French Revolution. This bloody purge occurred when it became the pre-eminent reason for its own existence instead of remembering that it was secondary to the subjects of the king.

The existence of hierarchically organized religion can be tolerated when it doesn’t affect the affairs of those who don’t subscribe. The French realized this in 1905 and completely severed any religious references in government affairs. They recognized that the influence of religion on the regulation of the population in general is something inherently bad.

Hierarchies do some good; they allow the small contributions of many to aggregate into amounts of money that have critical mass for accomplishing goals. This is good where the leaders are volunteers, i.e. don’t get any of the donated money. They should be allowed to exist only when (1) the organization is audited annually by independent third parties and the results of same are public record, and (2) that they recognize and fully obey the letter and spirit of the laws of the jurisdiction and country wherein they are.

These two things alone would end much of the abuse. It has worked well for publicly held businesses; it wasn’t practiced when the bishops of the Roman Catholic Church protected sexual predators. As it is now, show me a hierarchical organization without these controls built into its operation and I’ll show you a scandal about to happen.

So, I’ve gone high and wide of my opening but this self-perpetuating, autocratic, hierarchical phenomenon is on my mind. It is vanity gone wild; a distraction of the imagination. Go back to square one, recommence; learn from this lifetime to develop farther in the next.

Fitting In

“Here we are, on this plantation.” There seems to be two ways to open a thought; one is to get right into the action and the other is to lay out a conclusion and then defend/support it. I prefer the first because it seems to get the reader/audience into the scene and creates a bit of suspense. Then, perhaps, they are paying closer attention to what is being put forth as an idea.

Last night at the billiards club mixed eight ball league, an opportunity arose concerning Tim who had just been at our table cracking wise, showing off his wit. His beard/goatee reminded me of Bob Amos, of Hull Technical Department days, so I told the story. Bob came in one day with his beard, which looked just like Tim’s, shaved off; when I asked him why on earth he shaved it he said, “I woke up this morning with my finger in my mouth.” It brought the house down and Tim seemed to take it well. Tim is a teaser; he loves to display his wit but, as is always the case, there are those like me, who lie in wait for the right opportunity to display our own wit at the expense of the show-off.

At class the other night, one of the participants who makes his living interacting with people, was behaving badly. His posture was a signal that he would rather be elsewhere and his continuous mouthing of sunflower seeds and spitting the hulls into an empty soda bottle, not to mention his slightly more than occasional fingering of his Iphone was quite distracting/ disturbing to me, the instructor. This is an opportunity for me to use some of the same principles that are contained in the class I am teaching. Here we have an opportunity for (a) coaching or (b) handling a mistake. But before I go there I would like to expound my philosophy of organizational behavior.

(1) If you are going/sent to participate in s.t., then participate. If you don’t have a choice in the matter, i.e. your boss or company requires it, be circumspect enough to realize that your behavior is a reaction. If it is an emotional reaction, such as rebellion and therefore irrational, you would be well served to do the necessary to become objective in your choice of behaviors.

(2) Realize what how you look, i.e. how you are groomed and what you are wearing, is what everybody else sees and uses to make a value judgment of you. It connotes how you feel about yourself and how much respect you have for those with whom you will be. If you are uncertain, there is always an acceptable middle-ground, and if you’re clever enough you can prepare for almost any circumstance.

(3) Realize that your manner of speaking, like clothing, is also used by others to make judgments. It usually tips them off to your level of sophistication, education, and acceptability. All groups have a jargon; the more specialized the group the more sophisticated the jargon. This holds true for street gangs as well as nuclear physicists. People not of the group can’t understand what’s being said. At the extreme we have the matter of national languages, which could be the result of physical as well as social separation, where the separation allowed/ caused the development of a distinctive method of expressing thoughts.

For the matter of this discussion, when in a heterogeneous group the wise will use words and expressions that are generally acceptable and understood by the vast majority of those present. This doesn’t mean to speak down, or up, but rather across. If one maintains the polite social intercourse level, all can participate without discomfort and most will comply with that same standard.

In all of these cases, behavior, dress, and speech, we tend to lower our guard, ease our discipline as we get more and more comfortable with those with whom we are. As our relationship with the group strengthens our propensity to become lax increases , and this is usually our personal feeling and not necessarily shared by those whom we are. In other words, you think it’s ok to wear cutoffs and flip-flops because no one says anything about it but rest assured their image of you is affected by what they see and hear.

On the other hand there is the possibility that acceptance and belonging aren’t an issue, or even that they are areas of disdain, then one can choose behavior, clothing, and speech to further those aims. The result will be there, if that’s what you want it to be.

Publishing this will go a long ways toward easing my own reaction to the errant class member. The infractions are minor but distracting all the same. It hasn’t been an issue until now, except once when one chewed tobacco and spit into a bottle. The first time I saw it I took him aside and told him to lose the tobacco and the spittoon.

I will incorporate the following disclaimer in my classes at session one: We are all here to have an enjoyable and instructive experience. The success of the class depends entirely on my presentation, your reception, participation, willingness to share experiences, your arguments or questions when you disagree or don’t understand, and the comfort level of all of us in the class. If I see something that concerns me, that I feel is out of line in some way, how would you like me to approach you about it? I want you to have a meaningful experience so your answer to this is important to all of us.

Aside: this is one of the values of my notebooks and now this blog. It is similar to a counselor because articulating ideas seems to allow me to reach conclusions that are more objective and constructive than just “thinking” about it; and to express thoughts that may not be interesting to s.o. else.

On Being a Player

I’m listening to an audio book about Ulysses by James Joyce. Ulysses is full of great and convoluted hidden meanings and poses a question for me. How did it get ever get recognized? Here is a daunting book of almost 800 pages that describes the activities of some truly idiotic people during the course of one single day, June 16, 1904. Who could be convinced to read on past the beginning of it? I am asking this because I want to understand how this is can happen. How can s.o. convince a publisher to print and distribute such a work? How do people find out about it? How in the world can s.o. sit down and read it? Some PhD’s spend years researching surrounding events, both historical and then current, study the text for its convoluted references to Homer’s Ulysses (Odysseus) and then relate all of that to s.o. like me who has, and will take, the time necessary to listen to all 24, 45 minute lectures. And, I have the book but I don’t know if I’m going to read it. I mean 800 pages!

I ask all of these questions because I want to know. I am incredulous about it because there are tons of books out there, written by a multitude of writers both living and dead, but getting published seems to be the hardest thing in the world to do; unless you are in some circle that keeps you in the proximity of those who know. Much of what is written is drivel, who decides what’s worthwhile?

When I met with my former writing professor, after he had time to look at my book, I was curious about his reaction to it. He didn’t have one. His lack of enthusiasm for my work told me everything I needed to know so we talked about him and life in general. On the one hand I think I am too old to succeed at writing; on the other, I look back and say it takes s.o. about five years to get going on s.t. like this, to get ensconced in the writing community, to find like-minded would-be authors, to pay the price of apprenticeship and get your journeyman’s reputation. But it takes a decision to dedicate yourself to same and DOIT.

I have two of the best excuses in the world, neither of which holds any water so I won’t even make them to you. Two other things holding me back are finding the entrance to and then entering the labyrinth, which is the world of writers. There is so much symbolism in the ancient writing that I never tire of it. Most of them have the hero finding himself in a situation and cleverly working his way through. My dilemma is finding the situation in which to get.

I joined a group of writers, what a waste. I wrote for my grandkids, fun but shooting fish in a barrel. I wrote for Open Floodgate, voila! Le lieu. Then it shut down so I published my book, the one that didn’t fire Ed’s enthusiasm. These and my classes made me aware of my need for an audience, people who will read and comment, for better or worse, on what they read. So now here I am blogging away.

There is another aspect of my life that is totally analogous to this. It is pocket billiards/pool. I’ve had a table for more than 10 years. People come over for parties and often we get involved in a game. Some of these people are very good, better than me. Then last year I joined a league of players at the Billiards Club of Louisville. My game has improved because my team mates are supportive and are more than a little willing to share their expertise with me as I struggle. I still suck at pool but I am light years ahead of where I was and win most of the time at home and about half the time in league play. The skill levels go to Super-7 and I am a three. There aren’t many men who are threes and I chafe under the shame of it but play I do. I study the game, practice it, play it, and compete in it and you watch, in three or four years I will be right up there at the top.

As I review similar forays into endeavors that require more than being able to talk a good game, I see the similarities. There is a long learning curve but one has to get on that curve if he is ever going to advance his skill. Okay so where is the 0-0 point of the curve for writing? For pool it was walking into the billiards club and saying, I want to get on a team. They were open to the idea and made sure I got on one. Where is the writing club, the entrance into the labyrinth?

As the result of a discovery about myself , a few months ago, I changed from talking a good game to working hard to be able to play a good game; and I’m referring to life in general, not just pool. There are many, whom I’ll call spectators, who are vicariously involved in life and I made up my mind to be a participant, a player. The danger in being a spectator is that one gets lulled into getting fulfillment from watching others play and becomes an expert in talking about the game. For me, the fulfillment is in playing the game. I am a player, a performer, give me a game and an audience and I’m there!

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Braggadocio

Braggadocio--you tell me.

It is Thursday afternoon, raining and cool. There isn’t anything pending for me to do, nothing pressing, nothing important. I’ve taken care of the few tasks on which people were waiting but now there’s nothing. This has been the case for years and years only I didn’t realize it until recently. There is nothing that I have to do—today, and I like it this way.

I worked in a large organization for a long time and got to the point where I was calling the shots on what needed to be done and when. The requirements would be generally explained to me and it was up to me, and my organization, to meet them. As with everyone, I started out in the first degree of freedom, which is wait here until I tell you what to do, do it and then come back to me. Then through successfully operating within that one for a short while I advanced to the second, which is see something that needs doing, ask if you can do it. Once this happened with regularity, I pushed on to the third degree which is, seeing something that needs doing, do it then report. Finally the fourth degree, know what has to be done and do it, reporting periodically.

This is the level to which all independent thinkers aspire. Advancement in an organization depends on operating successfully at this degree of freedom. The bigger the task the more freedom you have. Beware of the politics all along the way.

And yet when I look at today's situation objectively, except for being fawned over by nubile young things, I am at a point in my life where I am able to do whatever and that includes nothing. About all that I really must do is pay my taxes and stay street legal.

Being resourceful I have constructed a way to come up with stuff to do. I call them my Endeavors and there are now about 15 or so of them, down from eighteen. For these I've identified two categories of activity, what I want to accomplish in each Endeavor this year and in what kinds of activities I will engage during the year within these Endeavors. To set it up, I take the time between the winter solstice and the New Year for planning the year ahead; then weekly review where I am and set up tasks for the week ahead.

Lacking this sort of structure, one may get involved in s.t. that is harmful, detrimental, or wind up in a place where he doesn’t want to be. Sort of like leaving the gate to the pasture open, the horse leaves the enclosure but doesn’t have a clue as to where he is going or why, he just meanders around the neighborhood looking for good things to eat. But put tack on that horse and get a good rider in the saddle, wow!

Then there are days like today when I just don’t feel like doing anything so I won’t. But honestly, when I had my business, and I was working, there were many days when I simply didn’t know what to do. My imagination would fail me and I would do something even if it meant getting into a jam and then have to get out of it again. Sometimes days like this require patience and a good positive attitude, one that says, “Yes, a little down time is good now and then.”

But there is something in here that is not at all satisfied with days like this. On the one hand I want to do, on the other I don’t. Writing is a good compromise, it is allows me to be doing without really doing anything beyond getting some thoughts up on the screen. If I was writing a story, play, poem, or presentation, I would get all involved in it and lose all sense of time, whereas now the minutes seem to be slowly passing. And this is a good yardstick, for me anyway, how quickly does time apparently elapse.

I know, for example if I get involved in a Sudoku puzzle, time can slip away and all of a sudden I’m up against a commitment, be it a meeting or a meal to prepare. Same is true of being involved in learning a software package, creating a power point presentation, writing a story, drawing a picture, preparing financial statements, rehearsing a script/presentation. Armed with this knowledge on days like this, I eschew these activities and simply graze in my pasture, doing things that aren’t necessary, don’t have a deadline, don’t require immersion.

The above mentioned actys, as well as participating in sports/ games/ conversations, or watching movies/plays/concerts all have one thing in common, they call for one, or a very few, personae to get completely involved to the exclusion of all the others. Often, I get involved in these activities without regard for how constructive they are. IOW (an often used abbreviation for In Other Words) they become what seems in retrospect to be a big waste of time, whereas writing for an audience, even of one, or playing competitively, or reaching some sort of useful result does not. I am against wasting time but I am also against snacking, which means intellectually and emotionally I prefer not to but…

This blog is good for me because I can write and delude myself into thinking that there is an audience out there who may read my entries from time to time, even enjoy them. This was what Open Floodgate did for me with the added dimension that it wasn’t a delusion. There were more than 5,500 views of my creations on that site. It made me aware of the need I have for an audience.

Apologies

There is some time between now and when I must leave the house; quiet time during which I usually nap. Today there is sufficient time to write an entry and take a snooze. My goal today is to see what 1000 words looks like on a screen in lieu of a notebook.

I am struggling a little with how to voice the entries I make in this blog. There are some options available: one would be to write it to someone, an unidentified person who is the reader and I suppose by default this is to whom most things are written, including books; or write it to s.o. who is id’d as if it were a letter; then it could be written in the objective case as an article of fact or report on s.t.; then it could be written in a conversational style where the participant was inferred as if sitting here listening. And there are probably other possibilities that will come to mind as I mush on.

There is a difficulty with conversational because in life it would depend on the personality of the person to whom I was speaking; and, for me, there would be a difficulty with expression because I would say s.t. one way but write it another. There is also a difficulty with the more formal, report-like, style because that could get stilted. Perhaps the best solution would be to approach it as I would if I was on a radio program talking about whatever the subject du jour may be. Yes, that seems to be the best of all possibilities, both the stated and implied, because it assumes a certain generic audience of peers who would be comfortable with my style of expression.

During the course of my years of notebook writing, I tackled some highly personal issues such as hard feelings caused by the action/ inaction of associates, opinions of why people are the way they are to me, opinions of why I am the way I am to others at times. Then there were/are entries that are devoted to issues of the day such as political commentary or the like. I am somewhat reluctant to put some of this into a blog because one never knows who will be reading it and, due to the transferability of data in digital form, what they will be doing with it. If I launched into a diatribe about s.o. or some issue, it could be publicized to my detriment.

The French dictionary acquainted me with a convention, which I have adopted in my writing, that saves a lot of time and strokes. It abbreviates someone with s.o., something with s.t., and somebody with s.b. I have adopted this convention in my writing and it has proven helpful; I thought it might be helpful to state this up front so that the reader will not be at sea about these abbreviations. There is another convention that I have come to use, it is the slash. I will be going along with a thought and say something like: then it became clear to me that she was/would be amenable to a relationship. Instead of editing the remark as it is being made, I have used the slash as a way of changing the sense of the statement without going back and re writing it. When one is scribbling along with a pen or pencil, this convention eliminates a lot of scratch outs and/or erasures. So bear with me, you’ll get used to it.

Then there is the possibility that French will appear from time to time in my writing. This is s.t. to which the reader will have to become inured. I get a little ego boost when I can use a French word to say s.t. It is a tribute I pay to my many years of studying the language without learning it very well. Someday I may relocate to France, to Chantilly, and live in a totally French environment again just to “sink or swim” with regard to this language issue.

Already I can see that the little squiggly red line is going to be a boon to my writing in this blog. I have corrected misspelling several times as I’m going along here, s.t. I wouldn’t have done in a notebook, which is why I was appalled at the misspelling when I reviewed 2004 notes. I will yield to my propensity to try to get it right by reviewing the entry for the squiggly red line and changing the word if it is appropriate to do so. I know from experience that nothing is quite as jarring as reading a passage and finding misspelled words or bad grammar. I can’t guarantee the grammar or the word choice but at least I can give you a correctly spelled word to read.

Word 2007 has a nice feature; it displays the word count as you go along. Right now this document has 827 and it will be a morceau du gateau to know when I’ve reached the desired length. The one or two times I keyed a notes entry resulted in an entry to be one and a half keyed pages for the four sides of handwritten. If that were the case I would be there and I believe that to be a better guage than the 1000 words, although today I am going for the 1000 just to see how long an entry that will be.

The fourth paragraph above is an indication of my character. I am older and wiser and have been burned enough by gossip and backstabbing to be wary of putting it out there for people to use, especially against me. I have discovered that the emotional reaction to a situation is irrational and all too often requires me to back pedal, apologize, and do damage control in a relationship. I have a daily that says, “Realizing emotional reactions are irrational, I am more objective.” And this seems to be good advice, for me anyway. It takes a lot of the color out of my life but hey, life without red is not so bad. But at the same time, I know that all of us have a need to vent our hurt feelings from time to time. I am not going to promise that you won’t see a diatribe or two in this blog and I will have to be willing to stand for the repercussions that such will bring.

Well, that’s the thousand (1086 to here.) Later--

Rules of the Game

Rules of the Game: Not that rules are necessary but I do like to have some self-imposed guidelines in order to maintain a certain consistency in my life and writings. The blog is intended to replace two major efforts of mine: creative writing of poems, stories, plays, and presentations of ideas; and writing my thoughts on life, living, and attempts at finding the truth.

The first of these has no limit or guidelines other than the form of the piece, the second will be limited to about 1000 words, this would be the length of the aforementioned 2 pages, 4 sides of notebook paper. I know from experience that the limit is necessary, otherwise the entry can get too long or too short to be useful.

Useful to whom? Well, me course. For example, I reviewed several days' entries made five years ago in 2004 and found that there was a certain consistency to then and now. This led to re-evaluating the utility of writing almost daily entries. If my thinking wasn't changing, maybe I should put it out there to be assessed by others and worked in the forge of opinion.

On the creative writing side of the blog, I will continue to work to develop my ability to express myself. In 2007/8, I participated in "Open Floodgate," a creative site which has since closed due to lack of sponsorship, and postied more than 80 creations in the above mentioned categories. The creations were bundled into a book, published by a vanity press, and given to my family. The works include a whole range of ideas that express my thinking, albeit in esoteric terms. I thought it would be nice if my grandchildren, sometime in the future, could read and understand how I saw the world.

These preliminary thoughts are the what and why of the blog.