Day 27 of 365 (day's end)

Day 28 of 365 (Stuff that works)

Today a good friend of mine is retiring. He has solidly served the State of Michigan for many years. Conducting his affairs he put in solid effort; a yeoman who finishes his tasks with quality work and on time. He believes in the concept of a government working for the common good and betterment of the people. With an eye toward progress he has doggedly pursued new ideas and new techniques to make things here work more efficiently and to create a better end product. He has never been just a drone putting in his years until retirement. 

 His actions have always been constrained by what I believe is the “group mind” of this large organization. In any large organization there is always a fear of the new. There is also always present a fear of the potential of an idea or a project’s failure and of being made the party to take the fall for what went wrong. Finally there is always the fear best stated as the “what happens to my world, my fiefdom, my way of living”, question that bogs things down with inertia so massive it could stop Jupiter in its orbit. He has never been one that has shown those kinds of fear or who has let those fears stand in the way. He has always pushed people to do better. 

 With the disdain that has been heaped upon government workers by conservative groups through the years it is amazing that any of us hang on. But public service is something that is honorable. As long as we government employees remember (and make it our focus) that we are representing the “people” and that we are ultimately accountable to the “people” there is no shame in being a government employee. It is not the forms we fill out or the paper we shuffle (for transparency and accountability) that matter, it is what service we have provided our fellow citizens. He has embodied as high a standard of service as any government employee I know. He will be missed.

Day 26 of 365 (Brrrr)

It is too damn cold.

25 of 365 (Cold Again)

It was minus six F when we got into the car this morning. The heat was blasting and the windows were barely defrosting. The snow pack made its sub-zero crunching noise. 

 My mind kept flipping back to the lyric in the old Grateful Dead song “Dire Wolf” that goes... 

In the timbers of Fennario the wolves are running round 

The winter was so hard and cold froze ten feet ‘neath the ground 

 Don't murder me 

I beg of you don't murder me 

Please 

 don't murder me 

 (Fennario if you are to believe some commentators is drawn from the ballad, “Pretty Peggy-O” and references a town in Scotland. Fyvie is a real town in Aberdeenshire, Scotland and this word might be a stretching of the name to four syllables to fill a lyric line. So much for the musicology interlude. If you want to know more about the song here is the link http://artsites.ucsc.edu/GDead/agdl/direwolf.html) 

 Yup it feels like the ground is frozen ten feet deep. We have barely had one day about freezing since the ice storm on December 21st. We had to hide in our homes to kept he pipes from freezing for seven days. We got dumped on with 15 inches of snow. We have had 6 days of sub-zero temperatures and even colder wind chills from 30 m.p.h. winds. 

Time to break out the burgundy and hole up by the fire.

Day 23 of 365 (Things that Count as Victories)

When you have lived 18 years in the conflicting world of ADHD and ASD sometimes life stresses you to the point where your last nerve is strained to the breaking point. I think I am paying for that at this time, more on that at a latter date.

Storm and silence, Robin Williams and the Man in the Long Black Coat, yeah it is kinda like that.

However there are victories, small victories, but victories none the less. Over the past week I have been sending my ASD son who now resides on campus at the university little notes. Mostly these were YouTube clips of a big hockey fight between Vancouver and Calgary. When he played hockey my son was not a stranger to fights.

Despite these little notes I was not getting any information in return. Finally I sent the following note: My dear son, Are you doing okay? I've been dropping you little emails to try and pique your interest in responding to me. Where stand the grades so far? Are your classes enjoyable? How is your blog? Mom says she hasn't seen any drafts of your postings. Nag. Nag. Nag. Dad PS, Your mother inquired about whether you were getting enough to eat. I laughed.

What did I get in response? Well about a five paragraph letter. I almost fell off my chair. In all my years of dealing with his ASD writing has been one of the biggest missing pieces. He really has struggled to draft written reports. But this letter’s grammar was fine, the paragraphs were artfully crafted and there was substance. He spoke of his grades, what his projects were and that he would be coming home for one night this weekend. I showed the correspondence to my wife.

We were both flabbergasted.

We cogitated on whether it might have been ghost written by a friend or a cohort. In the end we ruled that out. Why? Well because he would have had to ask someone for help. While progress has been made on the interpersonal contact level over the years I don’t think we have made that much progress.

It is said Winston Churchill did not speak until he was seven. And when he spoke he spoke in a mature full sentence requesting a breakfast condiment. The apocryphal story goes that when questioned about why he didn’t speak his response was, “Well until now everything around here was fine and satisfactory.” Maybe the same was true until now for my son.

Day 24 of 365 (Things I Have Loved and Things I Would Miss)

One must reflect at times about what matters. What do I keep? What don’t I need? In thinking about life and its pleasures I am drawn to think about what would it is I would miss if I were to be shunted off to a cosmic waiting room devoid of magazines or piped in Muzak. One thing I would truly miss is the music of Gordon Lightfoot.

Before I came to Michigan in the 1970s all I knew of the man’s work was one album and two additional songs of this Canadian minstrel. The first song was “If You Could Read My Mind” and the second was “Black Day in July”. The album was called “The Summer Side of Life.”

I knew the first song because well it was all over the radio every day each day in June 1971. It had been a spring hit but it just wouldn’t go away that summer. When aired it was often coupled with the Moody Blues “Question”. While “Question” was deep and agitating “If You Could Read My Mind” was the song for the loser, the loner, and the wistful. It worked for my 15 year old self on so many levels. Thinks zits, glasses and no self-confidence and this was a song of love lost for those who had never had a love.

 “Black Day in July” was a topical song about the Detroit Riots in the summer of 1967. I listened to a great deal of protest music at that time but “Black Day in July” seemed to have a connection to an older tradition of folk protest songs. “Black Day in July was much like “Joe Hill” and “Wreck at Los Gatos”. I love the Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” but “Black Day in July” seemed more intent on getting the feeling right as opposed to the facts. I think that sense of feel is often what makes great folk songs.

My brother was drifting in and out of my life as he went to college, as he went to Vietnam, as he drifted between jobs brought a copy of “The Summer Side of Life” home with him. I played it to death. The track listening on the first side is just stellar: 1. 10 Degrees of Getting Colder 2. Miguel 3. Go My Way 4. Summer Side of Life 5. Cotton Jenny 6. Talking In Your Sleep

Nary a weak tune in this batch. I loved all six songs and pretty much had the lyrics memorized in a short time, two weeks maximum. From the heartbroken bar musician to the outlaw to the cuckold every song had a beautiful melody and a strong lyric. While it is not much default tune to hum now “10 Degrees and Getting Colder” held that spot for several years.

 There is a warmth to Gordon Lightfoot’s voice that spreads as you listen to it almost through your entire being. I can remember sitting in dorm room snuggling with a young lass with long black hair her face illuminated by those odd blue lights of Pioneer Stereo receivers. I was smoking something that tasted of oak and we were drinking some cheap red wine. Ah on a night like that Gordon Lightfoot provided the atmosphere that cold room of Mayo Hall where the windows never quite closed. I would never give up Gordon Lightfoot.

Day 22 of 365 (Further Appreciation of John Williams)

John Williams was a pretty good poet too. 

 Ode to the Only Girl 

 I've seen you many times in many places-- 

Theater, bus, train, or on the street; Smiling in spring rain, in winter sleet, Eyes of any hue in myriad faces; 

Midnight black, all shades of brown your hair, Long, short, bronze or honey-fair. Instantly have I loved, have never spoken; Slowly a truck passed, a light changed, 

A door closed--all seemingly pre-arranged-- 

Then you were gone forever, the spell was broken.

 Ubiquitous only one, we've met before A hundred times, and we'll meet again.

As many more; in hills or forest glen, 

On crowded street or lonely, peaceful shore; 

Somewhere, someday--but how will we ever know 

True love, how will we ever know? 

 John Williams

Day 21 of 365 (Appreciation of John Williams)

A dear friend of mine recommended a book to me rather enthusiastically one day. The book was called Stoner by John Williams. 

 In all my years I had never heard of John Williams the author. Yeah we have all heard of John Williams the composer. 

The book was about the life of a college professor. It was not a story of triumph and success but rather a study of an average life of an average professor. However the book was excellently written. 

 I have posted a couple of quotes onto my Facebook page but these are the ones I like the most: 

" In his extreme youth Stoner thought of love is an absolute state of being to which, if one were lucky, one might find access; in his maturity he decided it was the heaven of the false religion, toward which one ought to gaze with an amused disbelief, a gently familiar contempt, and an embarrassed nostalgia. Now in his middle age he began to know that it was neither state of grace nor an illusion; he saw it as a human act of becoming, a condition that was invented and modified movement by movement and day by day, by the will and the intelligence and by the heart."

…. 

" He had come to that moment in his age when there occurred to him, with increasing intensity, a question of such overwhelming simplicity that he had no means to face it. He found himself wondering if his life was worth the living; if it had ever been. It was a question, he suspected, that came to all men at one time or another; he wondered if it came to them with such impersonal force as it came to him."

  John Williams - Stoner 

 John Williams won a National Book Award for Augustus.

Day 20 of 365 (Unexpected)

Yesterday I spent the entire day in doctor offices. I don’t know how I am and thus I am again waiting. 

 The only positive thing is that I spent the day reading a novel called “Stoner”. It had magnificent pieces of prose within it. The words so deftly painted a picture of modern life that it is hard to say a harsh word about this book. I posted a couple of the quotes that struck with the most force on Facebook. I share them here. 

 
"He had come to that moment in his age when there occurred to him, with increasing intensity, a question of such overwhelming simplicity that he had no means to face it. He found himself wondering if his life was worth the living; if it had ever been. It was a question, he suspected, that came to all men at one time or another; he wondered if it came to them with such impersonal force as it came to him. 

 
In his extreme youth Stoner thought of love is an absolute state of being to which, if one were lucky, one might find access; in his maturity he decided it was the heaven of the false religion, toward which one ought to gaze with an amused disbelief, a gently familiar contempt, and an embarrassed nostalgia. Now in his middle age he began to know that it was neither state of grace nor an illusion; he saw it as a human act of becoming, a condition that was invented and modified movement by movement and day by day, by the will and the intelligence and by the heart."

Stoner - John Williams 

The book is older. It is available in larger libraries. If you need something one day to fill a few hours pick it up.

19 out of 365 Part II (I kind of wondered)

A dear friend who reads this blog I post sent me on the following link.  I urge you not to read it if you are going to see the movie Philomena, at least not until after you see it.  I loved the movie.  It needs to be experienced without a complete knowledge of the story.  But when you are done you will have questions and this fills in some of the real background.

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/01/12/fashion/Philomena-True-Story-Michael-Hess.html?_r=1

Day 18 of 365 (A Wasted Day)

On days when my body seems spent I find that the television has almost a magnetic pull for me.  It draws me into the world of “pretty places and pretty people” as I have described it before.  Sometimes I do it intentionally.  Sitting down to watch a movie like “Beautiful Creatures” or a television series in the nature of “Suits” is making the same choice as lighting up a joint.  In a matter of moments you are whisked away from reality into a glazed and glossy fantasy planet.  When you watch the perky breasts in tight fighting designer clothing spar in rapid fire word play with equally dapper studly hungwells things just swirl about. Today was like that.

Day 19 of 365 (Philomena)

 Today was sunny at least for a time here in the frozen north. I took the opportunity to go to church in the morning. Secundus my youngest grudgingly accompanied me. One of things I love when he comes with me to church is how beautiful his voice is. He has a very melodious voice. Most the time when he is standing next to me I just kind of mouth the words of the hymns and listen to him sing. It was a nice moment.


 The sermon was on the meaning that we don’t see in people but which is actually there. Why did Jesus call Peter the rock when Peter sank into the water following Jesus and when he denied Jesus on the night before the crucifixion? Well Jesus saw something more, something substantial that would evolve over time. In all of us the pastor asserted there is something of value, something of meaning that may not be evident on first or second or third glance, but it will show itself over time. I liked the sermon.

Yesterday my wife and I went to see Philomena starring Judi Dench. The theatre here while I laud it for showing this Oscar nominated fare has relegated the film to showing a noon and three p.m. only. Thus any serious film going patron has a mere four chances over the weekend to see the movie. The four shows sell out a half hour before show time. You think that they might relinquish one showing of Nut Job for at least a 5 p.m. screening, but no.

Viewed as a small film Philomena is quite nice success. The tale is simple in its elevator pitch, mother forcibly separated from her son by Irish Catholic nuns seeks him out after an adoption placement. The pitch is simple but every actor in the film brings nuance. There are no real shortcuts save maybe one to the emotional payoff at the end. Dame Judi is in fine form and she makes her character real, not cookie cutter. It is okay to be a person of faith and have a bit of a foul mouth (appropriately) and to have knowledge of the world.

 The screenwriter and lead actor Steve Coogan does a good job keeping up with Ms. Dench. He actually gets to verbalize some of the feelings that the audience feels especially toward the end of the film. For a low budget film the cinematography is quite nice. The music at times seemed odd but it did not detract from the story. If you have read stories of the Magdalene laundries you will understand the cruel if not horrific back story of the film. Take a moment chase down why this film matters.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sidonie-sawyer/-the-true-scandal-of-the-_b_4509415.html

Day 17 of 365 (Hope and Discomfort)

Last night I watched the series Parenthood again. The episode was entitled Jump Ball. 

 The character most in focus in the episode was Hank. Hank is an adult who dated series regular Adam Braverman’s sister and who is a professional photographer. He has struck up a relationship with Max the Braverman’s son who has Aspergers. 

 Recently Max and Hank had a blow up clearly time to Maxcys Aspergers. In response Adam had given Hank a book on Aspergers and Hank suddenly has seen indications that he might be on the Autism Spectrum. 

 Hank not sure if he has Aspergers sought out an appointment with the Aspergers specialist Max sees. Hank goes to see a therapist and sit down for a session. When interviewing with the therapist Hank asks very bluntly (and in a very ASD manner) for a ballpark assessment as to whether he has the disorder. The response is a very cautious, “It’s a jump ball.” 

 Lots of other things were going on in the episode but one conversation stood out. It occurred when Adam Braverman told his wife that Hank was exploring the possibility he might have Aspergers. The back and forth was wonderful. 

 If only I had a transcript. After some searching I did find a clip. It is attached below. 

 The gist of the back and forth of this conversation is that the Braverman’s have discovered that an adult friend of theirs has been investigating whether he has Aspergers. The conversation is disjointed. They don’t wish the condition upon their friend but….if he does have it they see hope for their son that they might not have had previously. 

 Hank, their friend has a successful business. He has had romantic relationships. They note to each other none have ended well but as you will see in the clip the Braverman’s are thrilled “well at least he had them”. Hank has a daughter, she doesn’t speak to him, “but at least he has a daughter.” 

 In the possibility that a successful adult has the disorder the Braverman see hope for their son. Think I was squirming as I watched this? http://movies.yahoo.com/video/parenthood-jump-ball-111900681.html

Day 16 of 365 (Follow Up)

Today is just notes. 

 I wrote to the principal. She agreed. She asked why I hadn’t spoken up the night before. I explained, “Please understand that my role is in the nature of being ex officio. I take questions; I bring news, beyond that I am only supposed to talk if I think written policy is impacted or educational or general law might brush up against what is being discussed. For the most part I am just supposed to let the adults involved talk out there thoughts and issues.” I hope she gets that. 

Second today is guilty pleasure day. I bought two CDs, Stile Antico’s The Phoenix Rising and Chris Knight’s The Trailer Tapes. I have heard most of the redneck joy that is the Trailer Tapes and I am sure that will go into heavy rotation. I haven’t heard Phoenix yet but it is on many classical audiophiles’ top ten lists of recent vintage. I love this early music. I am a bit of a conundrum aren’t I; redneck songs about women in prison and 11th Century masses make up my playlist. Maybe it is because there is an element of good and redemption, an element of faith in each. Maybe I am bipolar. Who knows?

Day 15 of 365 (Candyland as a Wound of Inequity)

Last night I went to a PTA meeting in my ex officio capacity; I wasn’t a parent but a representation of the district. The vast part of the meeting was the routine stuff of these gatherings. Teacher Smith request $300 to purchase special software to make the 3 D shop equipment work better, and the district schedule would not allow for the purchase for another 1 ½ years. Teachers Jones and Brown wanted money to take the STEM club to go see a lecture on opportunities for women in engineering. 

One request stood out to me as odd and I am wondering why nobody else in the room questioned it. As an ex officio member I am simply reporting what the school board is doing, taking back questions to the board and going harrumph if there is a proposed action that is illegal or unethical. As to the substance of everything else I sit silent unless I am asked a direct question. 

I am the representative of the board to the middle school. This is the place where students are truly squirrels as we would call them in my day or hot messes would be current to about five years ago. Raging hormones combined with a wide age range and different rates of physical and emotional maturity make this place a caldron of angst, cliques and bullying. I sort of digress. 

The middle school holds four “activity nights” a year. These have traditionally involved a DJ, pop and pizza and 150 -200 kids just standing around. The mother in question, new to the school and to the district has proposed to make the last activity night a “more formal kind of thing” for just the departing eight graders. Everyone when this was broached at the last meeting in December thought this might be nice. 

Last night she brought her mock-ups and planning list. Her theme was “Candyland” and in her photos there were props of balloon bridges and floral arrangements made of candy (suckers mostly). Speaking she stated she envisioned a photographer. She talked about how parents would want and cherish these shots. The kids in her mockup were wearing long dresses and what the guy had on looked like a tux. 

I almost swallowed my tongue. I did not speak. Let me explain the problems that I see with this. One, we are an economically diverse district and this proposal for what amounts to an eight grade prom will whether it is emphasized or not highlight economic disparity. Sure kids who have no money will be able to attend by quietly approaching office staff for a free ticket but they will not be able to dress to the nines. Thus right there the injuries of class will be on display from the get go of the event. They will be apparent in both the having to ask for economic assistance to go and the visible class distinction shown by clothing. Second it is kowtowing to a sexualization of our kids at way, way too early a moment. Third what about the outliers in the population? Whereas boys who are awkward and might not be in the middle population (okay I always look at the kids with social disorders) but who would come for pizza and to stand around if there was just a DJ won’t come to a more dressy (as it is being pitched but read close to formal) dance. They especially won’t come it the freaking’ theme is Candyland. 

I just sat there wondering what the hell is with you people? Don’t you get the implication of what you are buying into? It was there the light went on in my head. The parents at these board meetings are a. primarily the parents of girls and b. not as impacted by the costs of such an event. Thus the inherent exclusionary nature just didn’t ring a bell for them. The principal while not killing the idea, stated clearly that she would not support any entry fee that was greater than five dollars. 

I have to think on this. I may reach out to the principal and privately voice my concerns.

Day 14 of 365 (Seeking Inspiration for Peace)

Charles Moore stated, “It is hard to live consistently, but it is essential if we are to make our world a less violent place. If we are honest, most of us aren’t very willing to give up the good life we enjoy. Consequently, we keep on fueling the very fires of war we wish to extinguish.” The implied corollary of Moore’s assertion is that if we wish peace when had better be willing to share and share in a big way. Moore goes on to state our standard of living, more particularly our mobility and autonomy make it had to give up things for peace; we hold them too dear. 

I think Mr. Moore is right. I am not sure there is anything we can really do about it. In watching human behavior for more than 57 years there has never been a day pass when conspicuous consumption has not arisen as a point of focus. Recently when my city was struck by a loss of electrical power for a week there was a need for auxiliary power. There in the midst of calamity were a group of men comparing the size of the generators they had acquired. It goes almost without question that the gent owning the high end BMW had purchased a generator that would have provided sufficient back up for a small community college. 

There is something hardwired in our species relative to acquisition, possession and display. It would be good if we could learn to share for the world grows ever smaller due to massive population growth. But I doubt we will ever be able to do it. For in every place where people gather there is that spark of acquisition, that inherent avarice that lust for things. We can try individually to lead by example but I don’t hold out much hope for humanity on the grand scale. Sorry about that folks. 

Like the title says, I am seeking inspiration for peace. If we can’t move beyond the need, the lust for things, what else can bring peace?

Day 13 of 365 (Beloved Places)

There are some places I have travelled to in my life that will stay with me forever. They exist in the realm of if I need a short holiday from reality during a rough afternoon at work I can sit back and mentally go there for thirty seconds. Victor Hugo’s apartment off the Place des Vosges is one. A lovely spring afternoon with budding flowers and the green grass of the park will fulfill the flight of my artistic self when things get challenging. 

 Another place, and the one that is probably the default place, is East Sooke Regional Park on Vancouver Island. The specific locale is Ayland Farm. When you see the sight as you first come upon it you may not think it is much. But when you see the fields of gold spreading out in midsummer, when you see and smell the blossoms of the abandoned fruit trees and when you walk down the stairs to the beach you know this is a special place. If I am humming a song the default is “Mama Tried” by Merle Haggard. If I am day dreaming of my perfect day it is Ayland Farm.

Day 12 of 365 (Sunday)

Listening to the radio today started my morning. As my scanning of the programing occurred I focused on one choice.  There on that set of audio waves I heard the story of the McIntosh Red apple. Little did I know this variety came from the region of Ontario that lies along the St. Lawrence near Montreal.  Had I known that I might have sought ought the fruit’s farm of origin. Last summer the family and I were about 10 miles from its location.  When you turn up to go to Ottawa coming from the west the road that cuts up to Canada’s center of power is just a stone’s throw from Williamsburg.  Williamsburg is the place from whence the once most popular of apples came from.  

When Sunday morning comes around I listen to odd audio streams.  I don’t want to hear news.  There is enough talk of pain and disaster in any given week.  What I want on Sunday morning is an insight into small things.  What I want on Sunday morning is something that diverts me from my cares and concerns.

A favorite program, and I have mentioned this before, is the Vinyl Café on CBC.  In this week’s edition of the program the host was talking about his commission twenty years earlier to write a book about small town Canada. As is the way it seems with all things like this his publishers wanted to mirror a book that had been down about small town USA by a noted and well regarded arm chair travel writer.

Williamsburg had been one of the 8 towns the radio host had focused on.  He made a short trip there to scout if it met his criteria. Mr. McLean felt that this place was the best of the lot.  Thus as those of us who like to savor things do he reserved it for last.  Well when he had finished up the writing on the first seven towns the author had more than enough in the way of pages and words to complete a manuscript.  His publisher being frugal cut him from any more travel.  Williamsburg was the chapter left unwritten.

Mr. McLean mused about how many chapters get left unwritten.  He focused on the fact that the Macintosh apple was simply one of many cultivars of the fruit growing in the area when it became the focus of horticultural development. He mused that those other trees growing along the river were other unwritten chapters.   They probably were fine cultivars, wonderful in their own right but now lost to us.

Sunday is a good day to muse about unwritten chapters and roads not taken.  Such musing need not be grand thoughts of what could have been. It can be as simple as a longing to have returned to a roadside park visited long ago and wondering why you have never gone back. Last night Francie dug about on the internet looking for a place in British Columbia that we has visited about a decade ago.  It was an abandoned farm along the coast across from Sooke.  It was a place of beautiful fields and an amazing beach.  Having been there once I always thought I would be going back someday.  Hasn’t worked out that way.  Ah but it was nice to have gone.