Liriodendron

Exploring the Infinite Abyss

2007-03-01T11:37:00.000-05:00

Holy cow, it's been a long time. One of the downsides to buying a house in the country is that good internet service just doesn't exist out here.

Things I've done since the last post:
Wife's preggers, family work, tree work, yard work, house work, car work, two jobs (but I'm in the process of getting a new one), took a Caribbean cruise (which I'm parly ashamed to admit), got a story idea, developed a sort of outline for it, and finally got an opening for it. I am not going to pretend to be a writer or that I want to be one, but I'm going to try it this once. It's about exploring the infinite abyss and being a light in the darkness similar to the way we can be a pocket of warmth in the cold.

I saw my brother for the first time in about 6 months last week. He left the Air Force and came home for a while last summer, but then he joined the Army. He's been in training since then. He got to come home for about a week and a half to visit and take care of some things before he left. His flight took off this morning for Germany, and we didn't get the chance to say goodbye. It's kind of cool that he's going, though, because we were stationed there with Dad as kids, and now he gets to go back. It'll also give me an excuse to go back. But at the same time, it sucks because we have been doing really well at healing the old wounds from childhood. We really didn't get along at all when we were younger, but for the last few years we've been slowly but surely improving our relationship as the chances permitted with his military life. We spent a couple of evenings this week going through our old toys (the ones that Mom couldn't bring herself to get rid of) to decide what to keep and what to let go of. We hadn't seen a lot of those toys in close to 20 years. I was amazed to find out some of the things I did and didn't remember. Until then I thought I had a relatively complete recollection of my childhood, the influences on my adulthood. Boy, was I wrong, especially in the sense that I've felt detached from my younger self. Recently, I've been thinking that my childhood hadn't had a lot of influence on who I've become. I thought that the person I am now had been shaped more by relatively recent events than what I was doing and receiving back then. Going through all of those boxes with Justin showed me just how much influence I did get from back then.

You have to watch out for those things you forget. Sometimes we're not lucky enough to have a good reminder such as a few boxes of old toys.

Hanging crimes

2006-08-02T10:25:00.000-04:00

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older
than the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo, and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

--Langston Hughes

What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone, in the forest, at night, cherished by this
wonderful, unintelligible, perfectly innocent speech, the most comforting speech in the world, the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges, and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows!
Nobody started it, and nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, this rain.
As long as it talks, I am going to listen.

--Thomas Merton

I am just about to finish a book called Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. Dan gave it to me as a birthday present, and I haven't been able to stop reading it.

I also acquired Syriana recently, which is a very important work in itself. But I was watching one of the deleted scenes (that I think should have been left in the movie), and part of the conversation really caught me.

Bob is a CIA field operative who is coming to the end of his career due to changes in the poligtical climate. He just recently started working at a desk job within the agency. Fred is a slightly higher-up, asking Bob how he's finding his new job.

Fred: What do you think intelligence work is, Bob?

Bob: I think it's 2 people in a room, and one is asking a favor that's a capital crime in every country on Earth--a hanging crime.

Fred: No, Bob. It's assessing the information gathered from that favor and balancing it against all the other information from all the other favors.

Sometimes I'm afraid I miss the big picture like Bob did. As a matter of fact, I'm sure I do miss it more often than I'd like to admit. ...Hmm...yet something else I need to work on.

Roger and out.

Incendiary Device

2006-06-20T20:26:00.000-04:00

For those of you keeping up with the world news lately, one of the biggest stories has been Roethlesberger's motorcycle accident. In my mind, there are several things wrong with that. First of all, he was breaking two laws when he had the accident: 1) he had no motorcycle license, only an expired learner permit, and 2) he wasn't wearing a helmet, which in itself is stupid. And he's only getting a slap on the wrist for it. Second, people were more worried about how well he would be able to play after something like that rather than about his well-being. That's kind of reminiscent of when Stephen King was run over by a van. People then were more worried about the next installment of the Dark Tower than they were about him. And finally, the lady who turned in front of Mr. Roethlesberger, who is reportedly 62 years of age, has been receiving threatening phone calls from angry Steelers fans. At the risk of being stereotypical/judgemental, these are probably the same people who stand by while crooked politicians and big oil try to rape the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, who watch apathetically while our President tries to deny that our global climate is changing and refuses to do anything about it (and, in fact, is doing many things to exacerbate the problem), and who contribute to the waste of our society. I guess they feel better threatening an elderly lady for something any one of them could have done for a stupid game rather than try to make the world a better place.

And now, with my judgement for the day passed, I'd like to share a couple of other things.

...So, friends, every day do something that won't compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it. Denounce the government and embrace the flag. Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands. Give your approval to all you cannot understand. Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed. Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias. Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant, that you will not live to harvest. Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold. Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years. Listen to carrion--put your ear close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come. Expect the end of the world. Laugh. Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts. So long as women do not go cheap for power, please women more than men. Ask yourself: Will this satisfy a woman satsified to bear a child? Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth? Go with your love to the fields. Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head in her lap. Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts. As soon as the generals and the politicos can predict the motions of your mind, lose it. Leave it as a sign to mark the false trail, the way you didn't go. Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.

--Wendell Berry

While I don't agree with everything Professor Berry says in a literal sense, there are some very important and worthy ideas in this message. Have another look, if you need to.

And now I take my leave to go mad with fever and slowly fill the world with my mucus.

Old Dan Tucker

2006-05-19T21:24:00.000-04:00

Three things:

1) I'm outta school! Woo-freakin'-hoo! Now I just need that million-dollar job and for them to quit screwing with me.

2) Got Bruce Springsteen's new one, The Seeger Sessions. The first song is "Old Dan Tucker." Holy cow, I used to sing that one in elementary school and haven't heard it since. The Boss done good.

3) I was reminded of a valuable lesson today by Zachary while I was trying to teach him something. I was trying to teach him (a 4-yr-old boy, mind you) to climb on things at the park to try to take a different point of view and have some unexpected experiences, so I climbed a sycamore overhanging the slightly swolen East Fork of the Whitewater River and sat down, knowing that he would want to follow me. He followed as expected. We sat and watched the world for a while, and he threw some small pieces of bark in the water. Then he asked me why the tree grew that way. I gave him an honest and plausible answer--that there had probably been another larger tree near it, so it grew that way to get out of the shade and into the sun. Then he said, quite earnestly, "Daddy, I think maybe it grew this way so that we could climb up here and sit on it to look at the water." I was slightly taken aback and felt somewhat foolish for not having thought of that myself. But I responded that he just might be right. Maybe it did. Maybe it was an indirect result, and maybe it didn't happen for him and me, specifically, but maybe it did grow that way in some attempt to help people relax and broaden their minds. Maybe it did grow that way to help us reconnect ourselves with the natural world. Maybe it did grow that way to better the day of a small boy and his parents. Who's to say it didn't?

Zachary and Daddy being monkeys

2006-01-22T17:58:00.000-05:00

We've been slowly purging and reorganizing our apartment the last couple of months. One of the things that is taking a lot of time is that we have taken A LOT of pictures in the last year or two, and have been somewhat dilatory in labeling and archiving them. So, we've been trying to remedy that.

Most of the pictures we take have something to do with our family and after I'd been labeling for a while, I noticed that our captions were centered around Zachary. They read as though they were written from his point of view. For example, the names of some of the people involved are Bill, Kay, Denny, and Joy. However, in the captions, they're always Grandma and Papaw Weber, or Grandma and Grandpa Fletter. Then I noticed that it's not just the pictures--the rest of our lives are centered around him. I always knew this was the way it would be. It just struck me a little differently when I was looking at and labeling all those photos.

And that's the way it should be.

Live life the best you can

2006-01-13T13:05:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to share another quote that I like a lot.

When is a Man Educated?

When he can look out upon the universe, now lucid and lovely, now dark and terrible, with a sense of his own littleness in the great scheme of things, and yet have faith and courage. When he knows how to make friends and keep them, and above all, when he can keep friends with himself.

When he can be happy alone and high-minded amid the drudgeries of life. When he can look into a wayside puddle and see something besides mud, and into the face of the most forlorn mortal and see something divine.

When he knows how to live, how to love, how to hope, how to pray--is glad to live...and has in his heart a bit of a song.

-Joseph Fort Newton

I am definitely a proponent of keeping an open mind and trying to understand others. I try to live the best I can and empathize, regardless of race, religion, culture, etc. And the Golden Rule should be changed to "Do unto others as they would have done unto them." We can all get along.

Aqui vive una familia que cambio una selva de cemento por una bosque de esperanza

2005-11-23T13:32:00.000-05:00

Yesterday when I got home from work, the radio made a point of telling me that the snow that had been forecasted wasn't going to arrive today. It didn't just omit the snow from the forecast. The voice told me that the snow was removed from the forecast. Some meteorologist is in trouble today.

Our blinds are behind the plastic that I've put over the windows, so I couldn't immediately look outside upon waking this morning. It was a real surprise when Zach yelled, "Mommy! Daddy! Look! It's snowing outside!" when he looked out the patio door on his way to the breakfast table. We had a nice film of snow, and it was still falling at a decent rate. All through breakfast I alternated between watching the snow (and the stray cats playing in it) and watching the look on Zach's face ("Somebody has to get my boots out for me!"). Every year I wait for winter, and the tension broke this morning. I'm one of those cold-weather maniacs that hopes for more snow and temperatures with wind chills. I love to be my own packet of warmth walking by myself on a winter morning or evening. I love the feeling of holding a hot cup of tea, and I love warming up under the blankets with my wife. I actually love the difficulty of getting out from under those same blankets about a half hour after the alarm has gone off in the morning, too. I must be insane.

I wanted to ride my bike to work this morning. Even when I saw the snow, I decided I wasn't going to let that stop me, so I pedaled the half hour through the heavy wet snow curtain on the slushy bike trail. By the time I arrived, I was soaked with the slightly brown-tinted slush, and my legs and face were numb. But I had the dim gray morning to myself, and I felt like I'd accomplished something. And I hadn't given in to the (very brief) temptation to drive. I'd done something that nobody else had done--at least by that time--for there were no other tracks on the trail and only two broken bikes in the bike rack. I looked like hell and it's still shockingly cold every time I sit down with these wet pants on, but I feel good.

When you're trying to make a difference in the world, it's nice to have people around who feel the same way you do. I don't really have that around here (aside from my wonderful wife), but I've got another book for inspiration now. It's about a village in Colombia, South America that was founded with principles of sustainable living at its core. In an area where cocaine producers, guerrillas, and the government army continuously fight and kill each other (and innocent people), Gaviotas is free of crime and weapons. They have a good life, finding ways to live in balance with their environment. They've had some tough times, too, but they didn't give up. Students from the national university are required to do a year of rural service. Many of them go to Gaviotas to meet that requirement, and many of those end up staying permanently. The village has been established for about thirty years, now. If it can be done there, it can be done anywhere. They're serving as a model for the rest of us to follow, and they should be getting more attention.

http://www.friendsofgaviotas.org/about.htm

or read Gaviotas: A Village to Reinvent the World by Alan Weisman

One of the families that lives there was from Bogota. They have a sign outside their home that reads:
Aqui vive una familia que cambio una selva de cemento por una bosque de esperanza.

It means, "Here lives a family that traded a cement jungle for a forest of hope." I want to be able to put up a sign like that in a place similar to Gaviotas some day. We can't say that we traded a cement jungle, exactly, but it'll be similar.

That's my hope.

Merry Thanksgivoween!

Fathoming the Spirit

2005-09-19T16:18:00.000-05:00

The way you can go
Isn't the real way.
The name you can say
Isn't the real name.
Heaven and earth
Begin in the unnamed.
-Lao Tzu

I've been neglecting my spiritual side, but I'm trying to remedy that. There are spirits and big things in the air. I have always been aware of more than what is apparent. I often feel alternately good and bad for inexplicable reasons. More often now, I am letting myself feel open, and it's an incredible feeling with so much depth. Love and happiness have that depth. My wife and I have that depth, and I am gaining that back with my friends and family. Hate and greed are very shallow. When we get beyond those, the possibilities are equal to our dreams.

All the Little Animals

2005-09-12T16:13:00.000-05:00

If you have a family that you love being with and dreams of big things in your head, grad school can be living hell. I've been working every day for the last month and a half. The only reason I am able to write today is that I've worked myself sick...and still have two weeks until I'm finished sampling. However, I see the terminus approaching. The news (not bad, but not necessarily good, either) is that I can be finished with school in December. The idea after that is to start my own consulting business, if I can. I'll start with what I know best--forestry--and expand from there. I'll be working for and with myself, which means I'll be able to travel and spend time with my family (and Dan, of course), while doing something I love. I know I'll be plenty busy, too, but it'll be a different kind of busy.

I hate depending on the future to stay upbeat, but the present kind of sucks at the moment. I've been enjoying the enjoyable parts, but trudging through the work has proven to be very draining. The consolation is in the fact that I am building a good foundation for that future outside of school. I am still reconnecting with friends and extended family, and Meredith, Zachary, and I have even picked up some pets. We have two adorable Guinea pigs, now, named Bruce (solid black with short, satin fur) and Bruno (white with tan head markings and saddle, a ridgeback pattern to his short hair, and red eyes), both named without help by a three-and-a-half-year-old little boy. Bruce's namesake is the shark from Finding Nemo, and I don't know where Bruno came from. We think it's something from daycare, though. Let's see if the pig himself knows:

qiopu4h6ngpoyuqw345 gewriotug we3r6+7jho\p=

I guess that's what I get for putting a Guinea pig on the keyboard. And what better way to end the day's message than to mix nature with technology?

Feeling Minnesota

2005-08-16T20:51:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm back sampling again. This summer hasn't gone nearly the way I had hoped. There have been plenty of positives, but I haven't been able to write the stories I wanted to write or travel as much as I wanted. However, I've gotten more tent nights this summer than I have probably gotten in the last three years combined. I am now bound to set a proportion of nights per year devoted to camping, and I will camp them.

It seems as though I've been camping for a majority of the last month. It started with a backpacking trip to norhtern Minnesota with Dan. It was nothing extravagant, but it was the perfect trip at the perfect time. The weather couldn't have been more varied or better, the campsites were spectacular, and the scenery was amazing. Even though it was only a three-nighter, it was very healing for me. At the beginning of it, I felt like I'd been cut off from the world. I've always taken pride in the fact that Nature is a very large part of who I am and how connected to the world I've felt. However, the wilderness, at first, seemed too large and alien. I've never felt that before, and it struck me--hard. I was completely taken aback by my sense of isolation. I'm a master's student in ecology for Christ's sake! I spend about three months a year doing nothing else but walking around old-growth forests looking at plants! What the hell!? Then I realized that it was the way I have been spending time in the woods. Any more, I'm always in a hurry to get the sampling done--to make the deadline, to get away from my undergrads, etc. Then I am busy with classes, data analysis, and everything else for the rest of the year. My isolation from the wild has led to my feeling isolated from the rest of the world, as well. That's not a happy thing. When we left the campsite on the last morning there, it felt like something in me broke.

Since then, I've taken a different approach to my sampling. Fortunately, and unfortunately, I'm sampling by myself for this run. Also, I take the time now and again to just sit and watch and think. I just periodically stop to take it all in.

I spent most of the following two weeks camping at one of my sites. I feel much better now.

And I will write those stories.

Today's note:
Walking is the rhythm of thought. Our brains evolved while walking, not driving or sitting on the couch watching tv.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

A Dream of Life

2005-07-12T09:59:00.000-05:00

I've been doing a little soul searching on the limited scale that I can while I'm still so busy. I've been working at home a lot lately, though, so that I can wander a bit more than I would otherwise be able to. I've been thinking a lot about family and friends lately. Something that's been bothering me is that I haven't been as open with them as I'd like (again). I've found myself closing off and holding back some. But now I can do something about it.

I'm reading a great book now, called The Pine Island Paradox. I'm going to get it for everyone I know. It's by a philospher at Oregon State University named Kathleen Dean Moore. It's about loving and caring for people and nature, and it really speaks to the way I feel and think. For example, autumn is my favorite time of year. I love all of the seasons, in turn, and the transitions, but fall is the runaway favorite. I also find myself doing things the hard way on occassion, just because it feels right to do so. One of Dr. Moore's stories talks about both:

IV. SCARLET MAPLE
(Acer rubrum)

In our neighborhood many years ago, there was a lady with a stooped back and a shank of white hair that fell over her face. Her back was so bent that she might have spent her life looking straight at the ground, except that she hooked her head up sometimes and by twisting it sort of sideways, she could see out across her lawn. She lived on the next block, so the children and I passed by her house every day on the way to the elementary school. We didn't see her much during the winter and spring. But in October, she was always in her garden, picking up leaves as they fell, one by one. A red leaf swayed to the ground. She stood with her head crooked up and watched it fall. Then, bent from the hips, she stepped over, picked it up, and carried it over to a bushel basket on her front porch. If she spent all day at the job, she could stay ahead of the leaves, picking up one leaf, and then another.

Erin and Jonathan called her the Leaf Lady. "Good morning," they would say each day. But she must not have heard them, because she almost never looked up from her steady work. "Why doesn't she use a rake?" they would whisper when we had gone a discreet distance past her house. I honestly didn't know. You'd think it would break a person's back, picking up a leaf, reaching down, picking up a leaf. But mayber her hands couldn't hold a rake, or maybe the angle was all wrong, with her bent back.

"Should we sneak over and rake her leaves?" the children would ask, and I wouldn't know the answer to that question either. Was it work, I wondered, picking up each leaf, or was it something different? "You can offer to rake her leaves," I said, but they never did. Once after a wind storm, a Boy Scout troop swooped into her yard, spread out like commandos, and raked the grass clean in fifteen minutes, piling leaves in the street for the city sweeper. But that didn't seem to make any difference one way or another, because she was out the next morning, as she always was, waiting for the next leaf to drop.

That's the end of the story.

The Leaf Lady must have died, I suppose, or moved to a nursing home and then died. In any event, after she'd been gone for a long time, house painters came, and then somebody else moved in. Our children left the elementary school for the high school and then went on to college. So I haven't had much occassion to walk by the Leaf Lady's house, and no reason to think of her.

But one day last fall, I was on my knees in my garden, pulling autumn leaves off the asters that were still giving blooms, though not so many. Scarlet maple leaves had drifted onto the heather, too, and I picked them off and cleared them away from the stems. The varied thrushes wer whistling--odd, this close to winter--and the sun glanced sideways through the hedge. "I should get up and get the garden rake," I said to myself. But I didn't. I stayed on my knees, picking the leaves off one by one, raking the soil with my fingers.

If I had used a bamboo rake, I could have collected all the leaves in a few broad strokes. The soil would have smoothed into parallel lines under my rake, and the leaves would have bunched in front of the tines, and I could have lifted the rake and dumped a whole rake load of leaves into the bin. Then I could have gone on to something else.

But what if all you want to do is pick up leaves? What if you want the autumn day to last as long as it can? What if you want to be in the day from the first chickadee in the morning until the neighbors' children rush shouting home from school with their lunch buckets and construction-paper projects sailing in their wakes? To be in the day until the sun goes so low it finally shines in your eyes, even when your spine pins your eyes to the ground?

Then, each falling leaf, each single leaf slowly falling, marks each moment passing, and you want to pick it up, and hold it in your hand, and be sure of it. Everyone's leaves are numbered, and nothing makes more sense than to gather them, one by one. There is something about the air in autumn, the coldness at the edge of warmth, something sweet and infinitely sad, the cold soil maybe, warmed by low sun, giving its smells straight into the air, sublimating from solid to spirit, transforming itself into something that can enter your body, something you can turn over in your mind: The warmth, the filtered light, the shouts of children, the cascading seasons, the tick of leaves falling one by one.

Spoon!

2005-06-21T16:11:00.001-05:00

Well, I'm out of the forest for a few weeks. They'll still be busy weeks, filled with data entry and catching up with my family and friends, but it's a different kind of busy than those times when I'm sampling. It's a very happy time. I've actually had lunch with my wife almost every day since I've finished this sampling run. I'm more than half way through Faulkner's Go Down, Moses, and I really love to play with my little boy. I especially love to make him laugh. There's no other sound like it. It's good for the spirit. There are quite a few sounds that are good for the spirit, but that's one I don't think I could live without now that I've had it. It's really something special to see the influence I have in his life and to know it'll affect him in greater ways than he'll probably realize for at least a very long time, and it makes me happy to see him growing up so well. So, I guess you could say I want him to be happy for purely selfish reasons.

But then, it's a two-way street, isn't it? I never used to be an open person, but my previous marriage has shown me that I can't be happy without being open to everything around me--open to let my thoughts and emotions be known and to let the people and environment around me have it's influence. I guess on a not-quite-conscious level I have always been somewhat open to certain things, but over the last two years, I've been allowing more to come in and go out. It's inspiring to see how I affect others and how they affect me. Sometimes I feel like I'm behind in that race, because I think of what could have been if I'd been open all along. But I'm happy now, and I know how to keep it now.

Meredith and I communicate better than I've ever been able to communicate with anyone, much of the time without speaking, or by speaking very little. We always joke that we can read each other's minds, but we do have a really special connection. We always have had, and now we're growing together. My relationships with my parents and my brother are greatly improving all the time, and my true friends are closer than I've ever had. Granted, I've grown away from some other friends, but happiness is in the people around you, as well. You have to surround yourself with the people who understand enough to have a real bond.

I've recently heard (which made me finally realize I've always known) that the most loving thing you can say to someone is, "Look." You don't have to give an explanation. Showing them what you've seen is enough. It shows that you've experienced something that moved you, however little or however much, and you thought of that other person and shared that experience with them. I now see that the people I've got around me share a lot with me that way, and they're the people I share the most with, as well. This is where life is.

Now if I can just get out of grad school with a degree and become independently wealthy somehow.

Long time, no see

2005-06-06T19:39:00.000-05:00

Wow, I really need to post. I've had a lot to say lately, but not enough time to get it out. Soon, soon....only a week of sampling left. Ugh.

"Environmental Conservation" is out of his vocabulary

2005-05-07T08:37:00.000-05:00

Wow, it's been crazy busy. But now I'm done with the term papers and finals. I can't wait to be done with school again. Now if I can only figure out what I want to do when I grow up...again.

I heard something on the radio yesterday that really pissed me off. It was in interview with the (House? Senate?) Science Committee about global warming and alternative fuels. He said that for years he had been pushing the issue as an environmental or conservation issue, and nobody paid attention. The last year or so he's dropped those words from his vocabulary with respect to alternative fuels, and people started paying attention. He got even more attention when he turned it into an issue of national security and consumer benefit. What a steaming load! We have known for a few decades that we are either causing or GREATLY exacerbating global climate change, but people didn't want to accept it. Now, there is no doubt. It is incontrovertible fact that we are at the very least a huge part of the problem. When scientists say anything about our involvement with global warming, they don't even cite studies on it any more. It's just a statement of fact. There have been studies on the attitudes of Americans vs. the opinions of just about every other country on the globe in regards to climate change and conservation, and the results make me want to cry. Americans are wasting much more of the world's resources than they should be proportionally to the population, but they don't want to take responsibility and change their behavior to make it right. A shockingly large percentage of Americans don't even think global warming is happening. And out of all of the countries surveyed, only the results for Americans had a column for a response saying they didn't care. I just don't understand. Global climate change and habitat loss are the causes of the massive amount of extinctions that are occurring right now, and it's obvious that people are causing both. How could you not care?

I heard another interview some time back with a man from Somalia. He emigrated to the U.S. during the "conflict" there and said he never wanted to see his home again. He also said he would be happy if his sons never saw the home they came from either. I'm sure those statements have deep meaning for him, and they do for me, as well. Home is a very profound word with great connotations. For me it stirs emotions and memories of tangible and intangible. A home has the combined spirit of everyone and everything in it (in addition to that of its location), and he has forsaken his. That's not something to take lightly. He is a janitor for a hotel in NYC. He was there for 9/11. Yet, he still says he feels more secure here than at any other time or place in his life. And he says it at a time when a record number of Americans are feeling the least secure.

The same day of the interview with the man from Somalia, I heard George W. Bush talking about all of the people who have died to provide us with our security--that their deaths were not in vane. He was talking about the coalition soldiers who've died, and he was talking to their families. He didn't mention the innocent Iraqis. How many more people have to die for the security of the most secure nation on the planet? After 9/11 W did say something right. We have to be right 100% of the time to keep terrorist acts from occurring. Terrorists only have to get it right once. In other words, as long as we keep trampling others for our security or to get what we want, terrorists are going to get it right on occasion.

You know, even after all this venting, I don't feel down. I've actually had a very good week that I'll write more about later. I'm just angry is all. I just don't understand what's going on with this country. We have such great potential, and we're blowing it.

Later, dudes and dudettes.

Here be dragons

2005-04-19T09:57:00.000-05:00

My ex barely understood me at all, and what she didn't understand, she had a tendency to dismiss or got pissed off at. She never understood why I want to do the things I do--whitewater rafting, climbing, caving, backpacking, etc. She wanted to travel and see things she'd never seen, but she wanted a tour. She wanted to go backpacking, but then she couldn't get past the bugs or the weather. There was always something wrong. Everything had to be planned and executed perfectly, or she was unhappy. That's no way to live in the world. My plans, if there are any, are usually rudimentary. I adapt and relish the surprises and feel the better for it. When I go somewhere, especially a place I've never seen, I try to experience it as it is. I don't want it to fit some mental image I've built up of it. I want to be an integral part. As Dan, myself, and many others have said, that's the difference between a tourist and a traveler.

Many of the things I do force me to live in the moment. Many force me to be a part of my surroundings ("force" probably isn't the right word, but it's what I'm using for now). The rest do both. I think Meredith understands, and I think she is a traveler as well. If not, she at least tries to understand and doesn't dismiss my validity. I hope I'm as open to her.

The World Awaits
by John Harlin (Backpacker Contributing Editor)
Feb. 1, 1998

"Here be dragons" read the ancient maps wherever a blank corner seemed big enough to hold the fabled creatures.
And for most of us, the dragons still roar. Sure, we know all about the incredible shrinking world. We know that there are only 6 degrees of separation between a Tibetan yak herder and Kevin Bacon, that the one can call the other on a cell phone. We read National Geographic monthly, Time weekly, and watch the world news nightly. Sitting there in the living room with a glass of wine in hand, we feel we know the world-until we actually consider packing the bags and hiking from Zanskar to Ladakh. Then butterflies flutter in our stomachs and dragons roar in our brains. Yes, the world is bigger than our favorite section of the Appalachian Trail. When we strike off for lands that we've never seen, things take us by surprise. But that's the way it should be because those surprises breed a fascination that lasts a lifetime.

Wonko the Sane

2005-04-18T16:02:00.000-05:00

I think this time of year is simultaneously the best and the worst. At the beginning of the semester it never fails that time appears to be of abundance. It also never fails that at roughly this time I realize exactly how much I have to do, and how quickly my deadlines are approaching. Yet, here I sit, typing a blog. I just hate when people procrastinate and then complain about it. I'll do it anyway, though. It really sucks that I have to sit here in front of my computer, in an office with no windows, doing calculations and writing instead of getting outside and living my life in this time of renewal (and goddamned perfect weather). Being confined makes it very difficult to shed my winter skin. It's difficult to avoid picking some of that mess back up again in this enclosed space. On the other hand, the possibilities are calling to me, and the world feels big again.

This would make perfect sense to Wonko.

A Penny A Look

2005-04-16T23:37:00.000-05:00

Speaking of the little things...I like to watch and listen to Meredith reading Zach his bedtime story. Tonight's was, "A Penny a Look." I think it's a pretty old story. I'd never heard of it before, but it's pretty neat. I like it because it teaches that making money isn't everything, caring for others (even strangers) counts, and Zach was completetly engrossed in it. He was even answering the written-in questions and had just this stern look about him (which looks pretty funny on a three-year-old). It makes me feel good to know that we're teaching him things that he'll carry with him for the rest of his life, and they're good things. Now if he just remembers them when he needs to...

Now, you know you've got a good woman when she can be this honest with you (how's that for a random transition?):
One evening, she was baking some MONSTER cookies for a bake sale at work the next day. She had decided that instead of spooning them out she was just going to make one huge cookie and cut it up into squares. It ended up working really well, but I had joked with her about needing a fire extinguisher, or something before I left to run a quick errand with a friend. After I got back--that's the important part, because she could've just neglected to tell me--she told me that she had a moment of panic when the cookie sheet adjusted to the temperature of the stove, making a loud, resonating metal-on-metal sound. All she could think during that initial reaction lasting an eternal fraction of a second was, "THEY'RE COMING TO GET ME!"

And now she knows I've written this to share with anyone who comes across this page, mainly Dan, and she still loves me. How cool is that?

They're coming to take me away! Ha, ha!

Death and Happy Birthday to the Bourgeoisie

2005-04-14T09:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel like those of us who know that the world doesn't have to be the way it is are the ones who have the most difficulty staying happy (for lack of a better word). It's easy to lose hope when your efforts appear feckless. Then I realize that those people who make no efforts and have sort of given up on the world are living their shallow lives, unaware of the big picture unfolding around them. I'm talking about the people who push their way in when you open a door to go out, those who don't make room for you to pass on the sidewalk, those who would rather give you a dirty look than say good morning. I could keep going, but I don't want to complain from my soap box too much. And I'm sure you get the picture. Anyway, they'll never know what true happiness is. Then maybe a similar soul spots you, or makes some sort of connection and does the smallest, nicest thing that makes your day. I was walking in to work, feeling somewhat down. I was stopped next to a small side street, waiting on a couple of cars to pass. I'd only been waiting a few seconds, but the last car in the (short) line stopped in the middle of the street to let me pass. There was really no reason for this complete stranger to do that, and I wasn't being impatient in the least (as far as I'm concerned, the longer it takes to get to work, the better). But they did it anyway. We both just smiled and waved as I went on my way. Life is often in the little things.

You know, for only having been married for a few months and lived together for a bit over a year, Meredith and Z and I have a lot of pictures. M and I were going through some of them a couple of nights ago, and remembering the things that were going on at those times really made me feel awesome. I have a wonderful family and great friends. Then I came across a picture of my ex-wife with me, my parents, my brother, and his wife. Instantly, I felt like crap. It wasn't because I still had a picture of her. It was because of the memory. I don't want to deny that I had a previous marriage or forget that I made that mistake. It just wasn't a happy time.

I've heard some people complain that most people only take pictures of the good times, that many pictures are forced to appear happy. The particular day of the picture with my ex wasn't a bad day, or anything. As a matter of fact it was pretty decent. But with her, there was always negativity there, in the background, somewhere, and the picture felt like forced happiness...maybe like we wanted to be happy but weren't. The pictures with my new family are all natural. We really are happy. Maybe the superstition about photos capturing your soul aren't so far from the truth. Maybe they don't take your soul away, but they allow it to come through some how. And the little things make themselves evident.

An idea for common parlance

2005-04-04T18:09:00.000-05:00

Dan is back from Louisiana and apparently has big thoughts to share. I haven't really heard from him, directly yet, but I'm looking forward to having my ear blabbered off for a while.

How is it that Word will recognize "bryologist" but not "bryology?" I would like to see more of the things that I have become familiar with make it into more common usage.

The Big News of the Moment

2005-03-31T13:46:00.001-05:00

Terry Shiavo died today, and I have one thing to say about that whole situation. People shouldn't have to live the way she was living. By the same token, starving to death shouldn't have been her path to the clearing, but I don't know what else could have been done that wouldn't be considered at least as murderous. I think her husband's persistence and refusal of a divorce lends credence to his statement that she would not have wanted to live that way. He could have taken the easy way and walked away, but instead he fought it for years. Whether his intentions were true or not, he'll live with that for the rest of his life. Everyone knows now who he is and what he did.

The Morning Dog

2005-03-30T10:15:00.000-05:00

One of the items I found while preparing to move was a packet of paper that I occassionally take on backpacking excursions, especially solo trips. In this particular packet only one sheet had any writing on it. It was filled with notes for a story that I had been contemplating for some time but hadn't gotten around to writing. The notes were scattered, fragmented, and written approximately four years ago, but I remember most of them pretty well. It was kind of a pivotal point in my life. I had turned the wrong way, and I guess I was just beginning to see what the consequences would be. The story was going to be a combination of what I did and what I probably should have done.

As I said, I remember most of the pieces scattered over the page, but one small inscription in particular has captured me for the last week or so. It's the one I can't remember enough about. I know what made me write it and some of the imagery associated with it. However, I don't remember everything that it made me think and feel. This one note was supposed to be a central point in the story, and I only have a hazy notion of the profound feeling the event generated that I haven't been able to recapture yet. At the time I probably thought I would always remember it. How could I forget something so grand and beautiful, after all? But I did...at least partially. I think it's because my life has changed in so many ways since then. I never imagined it possible, but I don't have to live the way I did then. I finally got the cajones to take the steps I needed to take, and now I've got Meredith and Zach, Dan stuck with me, and I've got a better relationship with my family than I've ever had (and still have a way to go with that one).

I've decided to go ahead with the story. Maybe I'll be able to get The Morning Dog back if I write it, maybe not. But...if not, I will never even think about going back to that life just to recapture one feeling, no matter how grand and beautiful. I've got a new life with plenty of experiences to be made that will be just as good if not better. I was down for a long time, and I still get in the occassional funk. But things tend to work out the way they're supposed to in the end. Gotta look forward.

Am I a tree?

2005-03-24T18:10:00.000-05:00

My wife did something pretty evil today. I'm so proud of her. I never expected she would do anything like this, especially to mess with a bunch of three-year-olds and their teachers. It makes me laugh just to think about it, and I'm really disappointed that I couldn't be there to see their faces. My son's daycare class had an Easter egg hunt this afternoon. Parents were supposed to bring in a number of plastic eggs filled with candy. Well, Meredith came home with what she told me were gummy bears, jelly beans, and Skittles. However, as we were filling the eggs this morning, I realized, "Hey, these aren't regular Skittles." They were the sour ones. I gave Zach a few about six months ago, and that was a moment when I wished for a camera. Now imagine the faces of 16 three-year-old boys and girls screwing up from sour Skittles...something they've likely never had in their young lives. I love my wife. I hope Zach has something to say about what she did. I'm sure if he does, it'll be cute.

The relocation is still proceeding. We didn't finish this weekend. You know, I've learned that I like to move, but I really dislike moving. Next time we're selling everything and starting over (not exactly true, but a guy can hope). I really like to familiarize myself with new places. By now, I've got quite the atlas in my head, and I've got no intentions of slowing or stopping. I am a traveller by nature--a nomad, some might say, or sans roots. I am not a tree (even though many have compared me to the ent, Treebeard from The Lord of the Rings). I am a wanderer.

Damn, I started on a tangent and have to go now. More on the move later. For now, I have to take my 'bye.

Relocation Motivation

2005-03-18T13:33:00.000-05:00

We begin our move today. I think this place will be much better than our current apartment. The property manager is a nice elderly woman named Wilma. It's funny, though, how much smaller it looks now as compared to the first time we visited. Perception is erratic. But I'm looking forward to it; it's an excuse to get rid of more clutter. Dan is coming to help, too. Moving and having him around will help get my mind off work. I need to get away from it for a while.

Zach (my 3-yr-old son) and I had a good discussion about Leprechauns this morning. He cracks me up sometimes. I love being a dad. He reminds me of things that I haven't thought of in many years, and makes me think about things I would otherwise take for granted. We always make jokes about him having it so easy, but we don't often think about how difficult it really is to brush our teeth, how much practice it took to be able to get dressed in the morning, what kind of muscle control it takes to button our pants, or how much willpower it takes to learn our alphabet rather than play and look at things we've never seen before. He has changed my life as much as his mother has. She inspired me to see things through more positive eyes, so I dumped a glass of cold water on her while she was in the shower this morning (REALLY funny, by the way). For him, I began to look at things like they were new again. We really can live where leprechauns hide in the grass. I hope I never forget that again, and I hope I can perpetuate that feeling in him without screwing him up. They've both taught me what it is to love and be loved, which is the best thing that can happen to anybody. I am a truly lucky man.

I feel just as lucky to have Dan as a friend. He has inspired me to take some big steps in my life, and we are kindred in so many ways. But the big one is that we live life the best we can, and we do things instead of taking the vicarious route.

I was down for quite a while. These three have awakened my soul again, and I'm grateful to have them. It's very liberating to know that if I screw up, they'll still be there for me, and vice versa.

Revolution of the apathetic?

2005-03-17T09:34:00.000-05:00

My first post was going to be sort of a tribute to my wife and my best friend, but I've got something else to say right now. It isn't necessarily that it's more important. There are too many ways to judge that. It's just that it's weighing on me.

This country has two deadly personality flaws: a short attention span and some fierce apathy. A really dangerous bill passed the Senate yesterday, and we let it happen. I didn't let it happen. I've been watching it for years. I sent my messages and called my Senator to get him to vote against it. But we let it happen. It passed by a vote of 49 to 51. My Senator voted against me, and it made a difference. The supporters of this bill knew that if they were persistent enough long enough, public interest would wane, and they would be able to get what they wanted even though it's unjustifiable.

What's funny is that four of the five oil companies that had been supporting the drilling of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge withdrew months ago for a couple of reasons. Their public backing wasn't substantial enough, and chances are really good that there's not enough oil there to make the endeavor worth it for them. It didn't matte to them that the areas they would have impacted would NEVER recover. But now they're only one step away from having their precedent to drill in other pristine areas. There is already a push to drill in the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem, in the last great grassland in the southwestern U.S., and other places that aren't as remote as ANWR. It just amazes me.

It's pretty plain to see that Dubya has manipulated public opinion and otherwise doesn't listen to us. So, how do you start a "revolution" in a group of people who don't listen long enough to care?