I usually try and stay out of politics in this blog, but just can’t resist today.
It is amazing to me that the Democrats in the House of Representatives re-elected Nancy Pelosi as their minority leader. She was completely ineffective as the majority leader, and I see no reason we should expect her to do a better job now that her party is in the minority. I would go so far as to say that in my opinion, her personality, style, and lack of effectiveness was one of the big reasons why the Dems fared so poorly in the majority.
As for the Republicans, John Boehner wins without a contest, which is even more appalling to me. The fact that this guy walked around handing out big tobacco checks to Senators who were kind to big tobacco made a mockery of our democracy, rubbing our faces in the fact that he and his ilk are owned by big money. Over the past 2 years, his entire career has been nothing but an effort to thwart any of The People’s business from happening on the Senate floor.
A nice buck is standing right behind the tree I’m in, sporting for a fight with another buck. There isn’t another buck here, but he thinks there might be based on the antlers I’ve rattled twice. He’ll walk into range for me in just a few minutes as he sniffs around looking for an opponent to size up.
He’s a nice buck – probably 4 on a side but maybe 5. I saw where he likes to lay up late yesterday afternoon, and figured I could rattle him in to this spot early this morning. I was right…
I watch him walk past me. He’s within range, but he’s headed up to where my brother-in-law is sitting, and he’ll probably have a better shot than I will. Plus, it’s early in my week of hunting here, and I don’t want to use up my buck tag this early unless it’s a real big boy.
This morning is pristine and perfect. Right at about freezing, with the promise of a nice day, and the rut is just coming into bloom. Climbing up into this stand this morning I was reminded of how scary the climbs in the dark can be when there’s frost on the handholds, footholds, and stand. That last hoist onto the platform always gets the heart pounding.
I enjoy the scenery for the rest of the morning, not seeing any other deer. The squirrels who call this little corner home aren’t at all happy that I’ve taken up temporary residency here, and make their opinion quite clear to me. To make up for it, though, there are a couple of really friendly Chickadees who are quite curious about me, and often will land within a few feet of me as they flit about the branches. A pair of Hairy Woodpeckers find a good cache of something under the bark nearby, and work away for quite a while.
At one point, a Cooper’s Hawk, (of course, it could have been a Sharp Shinned), is flying silently through the branches straight toward me, and veers at the last minute. He flies within 2 feet of me, but far too fast for me to make out many details. The grace of his silent dance through the branches is breathtaking, and I suspect he’ll find breakfast pretty quickly as thick as the birds are in these trees.
In the evening, as I’m back in the stand again, the Chickadees have become even more curious and friendly. Though I wish the hawk good luck in his hunting, I’m glad that these little guys who add some social complexion to my solitary treestand didn’t end up as a meal for him today. Before the light goes completely, I’m able to get a new buck down here into my corner, but he’s not one I’ll shoot either – he’s probably a 3 year old.
After climbing down out of the tree, I squat quietly in on the damp ground for a few minutes to listen around me. Hoisting my pack and picking up my bow, I start a slow and quiet walk toward the house in the dappled moonlight of the lane. I’m comforted by the look of the house as I approach it, hearing the dogs barking up the lane a ways.
Few things feel as good to the heart as the sight of home as you approach it in the dark of a chilly night. The warm light pouring out of the windows into the chilly darkness fill you up inside with the promise of a warm fire inside. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face while looking forward to the friendly banter of family inside, and warm comfort food spooned into a bowl.
It feels good to be me right now, and my heart is full of thanks.
I’ve got a special fondness for bike rides that let me have a tailwind on the way home. This week here in the Flint Hills, I’ve had some great out and back rides in the wind, where I get to work hard on the way out into the wind, then turn around and ride the wind home with a smile on my face.
I find that very satisfying, getting the hard work out of the way first, then enjoying the easy half of the ride.
If only everything in life could be so predictable and plan-able.
Like kids. We have ‘em, and we figure we’ll get the hard work out of the way early, then things will get easier as they get older, then they’re grown up and the work’s all done. Right?
Spoiler alert: If you have young children stop reading now while you still know the above statement to be true.
My kids are all grown. I’m not changing diapers anymore, so that sort of work has certainly stopped. (Of course, I suspect there’s a time coming when I’ll be doing that again for their children…) I’m not getting calls from school principles in the middle of the day, so that’s an improvement. I’m certainly not getting calls from the local constable late at night asking me to come down and pick up a son, so that certainly feels like a bit of a tailwind.
But I still know what 3:00AM looks like in a quiet house, worried about my kids. They’re out in the world on their own now, (well, mostly…), and there’s nothing at all I can do to help as they journey down their path. It’s them against the world, and all I can do is send love from my heart and prayers from my soul.
The wind shifted on me…
Or writing. I’m working on my next book these days, and finding the same thing I found with the first – there isn’t that turnaround point where you get a tailwind. I would have thought that once you get the first draft done, you get to turn and get a tailwind, but that just doesn’t happen for me. Sure, the first draft of the first draft is done, but oh my does it need improvement. Reading through it makes me doubt what I was trying to say, or doubt that I’ve said it well. Pretty soon I’ve rewritten most of it several times, and while I hope it’s an improvement, I’m not convinced. Soon, I’ll have to give it to the editor, an then I’ve got not only a headwind but a hill to climb…
When I’m riding the bike out and back, I find that when I’m working against the wind – on my way “out†– my head’s down and my focus is on producing work. Then, when I make the turn and get the wind at my back, I sit up and enjoy the ride. I take lots of pictures, and notice all the things I missed on the way out.
The mind and body are open and receptive. Beauty is more apparent. I find lots of little side trips to explore just for fun.
Maybe, for me, writing is the opposite of how I like to do a bike ride. Maybe the tailwind is the first part of the ride, when I get to just let ideas flow out onto the keyboard – sort of like I’m doing right here. I’m enjoying it, I’m open and receptive, I find lots of little side trips to explore just for fun. (If you read much of what I write, you know I find lots of side trips…) Then the early part is done, and it’s time to start the real work – time to turn back into the wind and put my head down.
I wish it were the other way around…
But today, if it clears up, I’m gettin’ on my bike and ridin’ into the wind ‘til my lungs and legs are beat, then turnin’ ‘round, puttin’ my back to the wind, and screamin’ my way home on the crest of a tailwind!
In our culture, we tend to have a very delineated view of the world. Things are either black or white, they’re either on or off, they’re either left or right. Everything has a “side†to it, or sometimes multiple sides, and I’ve always got to choose which side I’m on. Somebody’s going to win, and somebody’s going to lose.
MC Escher Drawing
The older I get, the less I think the universe is set up that way. Oh, I accept that we try and construct the world we live in that way, but I don’t think this is the “order of things†as they’re laid out in the universe. I don’t think this is how G-d sees it.
I write about this in my book – Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty – and I recently had a discussion with someone that got me to thinking about it a little differently.
MC Escher Mobius Strip
M.C. Escher was inspired by a mathematical concept called the Möbius Strip. Think of it as a flat noodle that you make a loop out of and join the two ends together, but before you join the ends, you give the noodle half a twist. Now, there’s no inside or outside of the noodle, right? If you traced a path along the noodle you’d cover the entire surface – inside and outside – and end up right back at the same place.
Kind of like the concept of giving. In our delineated view of the world, there’s a giver and a receiver, right? One person is on one side of the strip, and the other person is on the other side. But when your heart opens during the act of giving, you’re much more accessible to receiving as well. On the other side of the interaction, the receiver gives gratitude back to the giver, creating a continuum in the giving cycle. Done well, there is no giver and no receiver, but only the blessing of giving.
Like forgiveness. In nearly every religion, the instruction to forgive each other exists, but we often come to think of it in our delineated fashion – thinking that if we want to be forgiven, then we first must forgive others. The classic if/then statement. But I don’t think it works that way.
Expressing forgiveness is something that’s contagious, and infects everyone around us. Forgiving enhances a state of forgiveness, and there’s no inside surface or outside surface. It just happens. We can’t make it happen, or keep ourselves on the outside surface of it, we can only contribute to the state that exists, or turn our heads and try and pretend it isn’t there by refusing to express forgiveness.
G-d doesn’t forgive us because we forgive others – we just choose to join the state that G-d creates – it’s all one surface. G-d doesn’t let us fall into blessings because we give to others – giving to others opens us to the state of giving, and lets us participate in the never-ending cycle of giving and receiving.
Though I try and stay generally non-political in my blogging, Tikkun recently published an article by me that I’d like to link to here. I’ll offer a bit of a warning and spoiler: If you’re either truly conservative or truly progressive in your leanings, you’ll enjoy the article. However, if you’re either extreme right-wing or extreme left-wing in your leanings, you’ll not like the article.
My son Jesse is in Vietnam, managing construction projects over there, teaching folks how to plan and build. Vietnam is booming right now, and companies there are looking for ways to leverage American construction knowledge. I talk to him most mornings, (or in his case, evenings), and through these conversations I’m coming to understand more about craftsmanship, quality, and just how much I’ve taken these values for granted in my life.
Jesse’s particular “craft†is decorative concrete. He’s an artist really, who happens to use concrete materials to build beautiful work that becomes part of a home or place of business. From stamped patios to countertops, he cares deeply for how something looks, and how well it’s put together. He’s built a valuable reputation as someone who “does it rightâ€.
When a Vietnamese company hired him to come over there and work with them, he thought it was for his skill with decorative concrete. Now that he’s over there, though, he’s realizing that their culture is a long ways away from even beginning to understand that sort of concrete.
It’s a pretty foundational concept and value in the American Psyche – the notion of quality workmanship. During my own generation, we let some of that value slip away, and it’s still slipping today. But it’s such a basic underpinning of who we are that many generations will pass before we’ve lost it altogether.
Not that we do everything right. Not that we don’t know how to do shoddy work. We make mistakes, and we do sometimes do shoddy work. But we know it’s shoddy when we do it, and we generally see the mistakes for what they are.
For years, Detroit built cars that were works of art. To this day, few things are as beautiful as a ’56 or ’57 T-Bird, or a ’58 or ’59 Corvette or ’63 Corvette Stingray. How about the ’67 GTO (in black of course). These cars were all built as a result of a solid connection between the American worker and a belief in good workmanship and a quality product. I could go on for pages and pages about things like American furniture, or the solid stone homes throughout the Midwest, or the fine bicycles that are built in small shops across American still today.
We get quality. We get fine workmanship.
I’m learning through Jesse that this isn’t a universal notion – the idea of understanding quality workmanship. As he tries to teach workers in Vietnam some of the most basic notions of how to build a quality product, he’s learning that their cultural vocabulary just doesn’t seem to include an appreciation of a well-planned and well-executed project, or of the difference between a truly fine concrete finish and one that’s barely passable. Their cultural vocabulary seems much more focused on getting done quickly, regardless of the future costs of poor planning. They have a focus on the appearance that something is completed, rather than on an understanding of something done well that will last.
I remember when I was young, and a tag that said “Made in China†was something I was taught to avoid. It implied not only that the product was probably cheaply made, but also that buying the product supported a “system†that we didn’t believe in.
Somewhere in the 56 years of my life, we’ve turned this notion on its head. Now corporations like Walmart seem to be dedicated to stuffing stores with junk made in China. And people shop at these stores, either unaware or uncaring about what this represents.
50 years ago, “Made in America†represented something of great value. Good, hard-working people went to work in well-paying jobs and made good quality products. We knew how to pay people well to do a good job, and how to create and innovate. We knew how to build a 1958 Corvette. OMC built motors that would last for generations, not months or years.
We could have exported this to the rest of the world. We could have taught the rest of the world how to appreciate quality in the same way we appreciated quality, and how to find the elegance, simplicity, and beauty in products that were made well.
Or we could have imported another way of thinking. We could have imported the idea that cheap is better than good. We could have imported the idea that workmanship is worthless, and we need to pay people the lowest wage we possibly can, rather than a wage that will allow them to live well and support other well-paying jobs.
The American Worker would have benefited far more from the first course of action. We The People would be much better off if we’d have invested in exporting American Workmanship overseas. However, large corporations could show a better short-term bottom line by following the second course of action.
Guess which one we chose? We’ve now effectively eliminated organized labor in this country, which was the single most important factor in maintaining a living wage for the American Worker. Companies like Walmart have been very effective in exporting American jobs overseas, while working tirelessly to assure that their workers never enjoy the benefits of organized labor. We’ve lowered our standards of quality in this country, and we’ve accepted that everything we buy is throw-away.
For anyone who thinks I’m being racist in some way in this article, I think you’re missing the point. It isn’t that people in Vietnam or China are “less†somehow than people in America, it’s just that their culture places value on different things. In many instances, I think there are values in these cultures that we should be learning from and importing – they’re better than ours.
But understanding quality and fine workmanship isn’t one of these. Quality Workmanship seems to be something that still flows through American blood, and this is one of those things that we should be exporting, rather than importing the alternative.
Jesse’s a smart guy. He’ll figure out how to teach his colleagues in Vietnam how to focus on quality workmanship, and how to run a project efficiently. By the same token, I’m sure there are some extremely valuable qualities that he’ll pick up from them. I’m just sorry that as a country, we didn’t do that same thing, and instead allowed the short-term profits of a few large corporations like Walmart to define the decline in the culture of American Craftsmanship.
What if one of the major news networks had a reputation for consistently pressuring reporters, editors, and producers to present information that was blatantly biased, distorted, or plain lie? What if they had a reputation for going so far as-to fire reporters and others who refused on ethical grounds to write or produce stories that were fabrications and lies?
I know we all talk about how untrustworthy certain “news” sources are, and we know that there’s one in particular who has the sort of reputation I’ve described. We also know that there are lots of folks who watch this particular news source, and who’s response to such accusations always seems to be something to the effect that everyone does it, and their source just gets picked on more than others.
But surely if one of these allegedly fired employees took this news outlet to court, (let’s call them faux news here just because we’re talking about making stuff up), said news outlet would work hard in court to vindicate themselves – to prove that they don’t really force their employees to lie and fabricate stories just to support their political agenda. Right? Surely they would, because if they didn’t, they’d be exposed as nothing but a lying propaganda hack, right?
Wait for it…
What if instead, this faux news network went to court and argued that sure, they lied and made stuff up, and that it was their right to do so under the first amendment. Furthermore, they had the right to fire people who refused to lie with them and for them, as this also somehow was covered by their first amendment rights. No refutation of the allegation that their news was fabricated to support a particular political agenda, no fight for credibility in the eye of the public, but brazen boasting that sure they make stuff up and lie to their audience, and they have the right to do so.
No really. This really happened. I’ll not name anybody here – if you think I’m making it up there are lots of ways to check it out and form your own opinion about what happened. They were sued and lost, and upon appeal to a federal court, the verdict and award were overturned. They then went on the air and boasted that they’d been vindicated. I’m sure their audience thought that meant that it had been decided that they didn’t lie after all, rather than the truth, with is that they argued that of course they make stuff up and lie to their audience. And they won. They now have court precedent allowing them to continue to blatantly lie and distort and make up whatever they want to, and present it to the public as-if it were truth.
I know this all sounds really surreal. But it’s really true. And the saddest part to me are the following 2 bullets:
That the courts in this country once again treat a corporation like a person. There is no Bill of Rights for corporations – THEY ARE NOT PEOPLE. The First Amendment protects the speech of The People, not of a corporation.
Most sad is that the folks who watch the collection of trash that they call news on this particular network are not swayed in the least by this sort of revelation – doesn’t bother them a bit that they’re being fed fiction and lies and distortion in the guise of “news”.
I don’t care what side of any political spectrum you’re on. Personally, I’m very conservative, but not at all right-wing. We should all be responsible enough to demand a level of truth and credibility from our news sources, and when one of them does what this one did, anyone with an ounce of concern for honor, integrity, credibility and truth should never, ever, allow that outlet to run on any media source they watch.
Put some soup in a pan and heat it up, you’ve got the makings of lunch. Put a tight lid on that soup while you heat it up, and you’ve got the makings of a mess.
Take a good, smart dog – one with strong instincts – and give him lots of opportunity to express his intelligence and energy, and you’ve got a happy dog who’s a positive and productive part of your life. Keep that dog bottled up all day with no way to pour out his energy or express his intelligence, and you’ve got the makings of a mess.
You and I are souls dressed in vessels that have designed themselves in this life to be tools of expression for the creative energy and passion that comes from inside each of us. There’s a harmony between the soul within, the vessel that wraps that soul, and the path in life that we wander along. That harmony defines the shape of the expression, and the pressure to express it.
It’s a harmony that’s unique to each of us.
Like the dog who’s kept from using his instinct and intelligence in a positive manner and ends up in mischief, we can end up creating a mess in our life when we fail to keep our lives “in tuneâ€, allowing expression to flow from us in a shape and intensity that matches our design.
I’ve learned this the hard way throughout my career, as I’ve sometimes ended up in “jobs†that required less of that creative energy and passion than needed to flow out of me. Early in my career, this was sometimes a frustrating experience, as I’d continue to try and pour myself into something that just didn’t have the space or desire for it. Sometimes I was lucky, and the job could take every bit of passion and energy I could give it, but sometimes I wasn’t as lucky.
The real maturity came in understanding that the problem wasn’t with the job, or with me. The problem was when I tried to pour more of myself into something than there was capacity to take. No blame. No right. No wrong. It’s just the way of it.
I’ve grown up a bit in my jobs these days. I’ve learned to understand how much the “job†needs and wants of me, and that’s what I give. I end up with a very good and balanced relationship with my job, the people around me aren’t frustrated by me, and I’m not frustrated by the job. Life works out well.
Getting to this point required that I learn to see and feel passion and creative energy for what it is, and to find positive and productive places into which I can pour that energy and passion. Trying to slow it down or bottle it up only leads to mischief and mess. For me, the real revelation came in coming to understand that solving the problem didn’t necessarily mean leaving the job, but just coming to peace with what I could do or be within that job. I only needed to leave the job if I wasn’t willing to accept the form of the relationship that would allow the job to work in my life.
There’s a wellspring of creative energy and passion inside each of us, driven by the source of all such energy. If we look carefully at the frustrations in our lives, there’s a pretty good chance that there’s a mismatch between the output desire and the intake capacity of some expression of creative energy and passion. It might be in a relationship with a friend or lover, a job, a marriage, school, a child, or any number of other relationships that we maintain in our lives.
At the end of the day, there’s nothing we can (or should) do to stem creative energy and passion that boils out of us. To stay healthy and happy, we need to make sure we tune the relationships we’ve got in our lives so that we’re pouring into each relationship enough, but not too much, and that we’re making sure that we’re surrounding ourselves with the right sorts and numbers of outlets (relationships) to allow that energy to flow at the pace it needs to flow.
I watched a generation slip into memory the other day. She was 101 years old. She’d outlived all her friends, and some of her children. Every bit of evidence I ever saw made me believe she savored every moment life blessed her with. In the end – for the last few years – she was increasingly tired, and ready to go home.
She’d lived life to its fullest, and she was tired now. While she was happy to continue to savor those little moments that life continued to give to her, she looked with increasing longing toward the next transition.
Her soul had left the wonderful vessel that was her body, but we gathered around that vessel nonetheless last weekend, and bid her goodbye. While we were sad that we’d not have her smiling face with us now, we continued to rejoice at the smile that her soul left within the heart of each of us.
It meant a lot to me that I could help to carry the casket within which the vessel that was my grandmother would now rest. The preacher said his words, and we all filed in a line past the crypt within which will rest the vessel that was my grandmother. She’ll take her place where she’d want to be – beside the vessel that was her husband and my grandfather. Her casket waited – they would put it into the crypt after we all left.
I waited at the end of the line, not wanting to feel rushed as we walked past the crypt. It was a tiny and quiet little moment standing there with my brother and sister, in that quiet place, after everyone else had left. We knew we’d walk away soon, and leave behind the deep and penetrating quiet. I took in a breath, pulling the quiet deeply into myself, and let in out slowly, hoping to leave behind a tiny shred of the love I hold for her, hoping it would rest with her through the years.
We left the cemetery, and drove past the house where she’d lived. The house where she raised her children. The house where she raised her grandchildren. We drove past the old house several times, savoring the memories with each pass. Memories of popsicles in the freezer on the back porch, memories of a fresh sweet corn in the summer, and a chicken coop converted to a garage. Memories of warm summer evenings under a giant willow tree in the back yard. Memories of covert bicycle rides down the gravel road to the river for a cool swim on a hot summer day.
The house has belonged to someone else for years now, and it’s a lot less neat and tidy than it used to be. There’s probably not a freezer on the back porch any longer – or at least not one with homemade popsicles. The willow tree was taken down many years ago. The road is paved in asphalt now, and the place we used to swim in the river is silted-in.
But none of that stopped the wonderful memories from wrapping themselves around me, and filling my heart with the warm love that Grandma leaves behind with us.
We talked about whether we’d ever be back to look at that old house again, or to visit with family that we’ve not seen in years. One last time, Grandma had brought us together to say goodbye to her, and while I desperately want to believe that we will, there’s a part of me that wonders if we’ll ever come together again, now that the glue that bound us has moved along.
Makes me stop and think. Where am I the glue? Where is it that I hold people together? In this world where the media and the hate mongers work overtime to push us apart and convince us that “the other guy†is evil, it’s increasingly important for more of us to live the sort of life that Grandma lived, where we work to pull people together rather than pushing them apart.
It seems that the deity dressed each soul which he sends into nature in certain virtues and powers not communicable to other men, and sending it to perform one more turn through the circle of beings, wrote “Not transferable†and “Food for this trip only†on these garments.
