"I want to take a ride..."

"Pick me up. Let's take a ride. Let me see the city from the passenger side tonight.": This is how my last blog entry for the summer begins, not with wisdom, but with a request; a request to be picked up, to take a ride, to let me see the world from somewhere other than the driver's seat. It is perhaps about turning my will over to "the flow" more, trying less to control what is not in my reach, and finding the beautiful zen in throwing my hands up over my head and shouting "yeeeee haaaaa" at the top of my lungs...  I think today's entry is to be about trying new things and stepping outside of my comfort zone. I found a quote online that I think applies, "I have realized; it is during the times I am far outside my element that I experience myself the most."...

Baked Goods, Pt. 1: Muffins...: What a thing a year can be. A year ago today (Father's Day) my daughter was trying to make me muffins as a surprise. I could hear her from upstairs that she was struggling, and there were tears as mistakes were made down in the kitchen...  I quietly waited for my gift to arrive, hoping my daughter wouldn't throw in the towel, wouldn't give up... she didn't and they were good, both batches, each different, both good.

So last year for my last post I wrote about muffins, reflected on wisdom from Batman Begins and The Legend of Korra, and I made note that I was uploading post #43, when I was 43 years old. It was a post about falling down, getting back up and moving through the struggles that we inevitably move through...

Alfred Pennyworth: Took quite a fall, didn't we, Master Bruce?
Thomas Wayne: And why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.

In Season 4 of The Legend of Korra, the Avatar is suffering from the anime equivalent of PTSD. She asks the healer of her village "And ... what am I going to find if ... I get through this?" Katara, the healer, answers "I don't know. But won't it be interesting to find out?"... 

Well, 43 was a rough year for me in some ways, and the advice I hoped for my daughter should have been directed at me had I been able to see the road ahead. I fell down, I stood back up. I wondered what I was going to find "if I get through this;" I worried and stressed and raged and melted; and I grew fatigued. And as spring arrived and warmed into summer, I feel new life, I am ready to find out what there is to find...

Baked Goods, Pt. 2: Cookies...: The metaphor I need to use here lies again in baked goods, not in muffins this time, but in cookies. [Muffins are baked with love. Cookies are the reward from love.] In The Matrix, Neo goes to visit the Oracle. He is convinced he is master of his own fate and is extremely distrustful of what he will hear from an oracle. And yet he goes anyway. [Such doubt from one so sure.] Although I am not one for fate, I do revel in the symbolism of the world around me. Fate is predetermination, symbolism is what value we ascribe to the patterns we find in the chaos. I also spend a lot of time trying to stay in control of my own life. That control has caused me so many successful moments and so many failures. And it takes energy, too. It's the "trying to figure it all out" that is so draining; rehearsing the script, watching out for pitfalls, trying to make sure everyone is OK, including me, but especially the others around me. So Neo is told his good friend will sacrifice himself for Neo's life and that Neo has a choice to make:

The Oracle: Oh, don't worry about it. As soon as you step outside that door, you'll start feeling better. You'll remember you don't believe in any of this fate crap. You're in control of your own life, remember? Here, take a cookie. I promise, by the time you're done eating it, you'll feel right as rain.

The cookie is, like all other things in The Matrix, symbolic. Neo takes the cookie, but is already pondering the script. Was his choice to take the cookie ordained or free will? He missed the point entirely! It was offered out of love. It is just what it is. Much later Neo visits the Oracle again when he realizes the danger of a potentially all-knowing force in his life.

Neo: I suppose the most obvious question is, how can I trust you?
The Oracle: Bingo! It is a pickle, no doubt about it. The bad news is there’s no way if you can really know whether I’m here to help you or not. So it’s really up to you. You just have to make up your own damn mind to either accept what I’m going to tell you, or reject it. Candy?
Neo: D’you already know if I’m going to take it?
The Oracle: Wouldn’t be much of an Oracle if I didn’t.
Neo: But if you already know, how can I make a choice?
The Oracle: Because you didn’t come here to make the choice, you’ve already made it. You’re here to try to understand why you made it. I thought you’d have figured that out by now.
Neo: Why are you here?
The Oracle: Same reason. I love candy.
Neo: But why help us?
The Oracle: We’re all here to do what we’re all here to do. I’m interested in one thing, Neo, the future. And believe me, I know – the only way to get there is together.

"I want to take a ride.": I've been driving for a long time now, and may have lost my way a bit. "Fate" might just have to take the wheel while I'm seeing double; I'll still pay the tickets when we speed. I think I have often gotten stuck in the conundrum that Neo finds himself, trying to figure it all out and forgetting to just eat the cookie. So when "Fate" comes knocking, I think I'll throw my hands up over my head, yell "yeeeee haaaaa," grab that cookie if it's offered, and just try to enjoy the ride...

A Buddhist Still Life... smiling

The "simple" things in life... 

A daughter performing on stage with seemingly no fear, and pulling it off with confidence and style...

A son digging deep in preparing for final exams to prove to himself and the rest of us watching that he can...

A brother and his family who does a less-than-24-hour turn-around visit from out of state just because they care...

Parents who are daily reminders of unconditional love and support, and what that looks like...

Friends—so many friends—who have been propping up, building up, an aging-man-turning-little-boy while he reinvents for himself the basics of living...

A walk down the street and seeing a rain glazed purple puff-ball of flower radiating in the setting sun...

Sipping a bitter macchiato at a museum after checking out some impressionists and others works of astounding beauty...

Listening to Love and Rockets and thinking "the simple things are so complicated"... 

The "good" Buddhist might say all this "just is" without value or reflection. This Buddhist says today, "It is good."... 

I guess I am a sucky Buddhist today, but I am smiling...

You cannot go against nature

Because when you do

Go against nature

It's part of nature too

Our little lives get complicated

It's a simple thing

Simple as a flower

And that's a complicated thing

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

My world is your world

People like to hear their names

I'm no exception

Please call my name

Call my name

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

No new tale to tell

When you're down

It's a long way up

When you're up

It's a long way down

It's all the same thing, no new tale to tell

It's all the same thing, no new tale to tell

It's all the same thing, no new tale to tell

Yes, new buddies allowed...

Bizarre prologue, a nod to a story not told: I had originally hoped to write a creative piece this week about the storm-grate outside my classroom in the courtyard between my room and that of a crazy and delightful retiring english teacher. I had hoped to write a silly, witty, and imaginative piece that would pay tribute to my friend and colleague of creative writing. It was to be clever; it was to answer the question "where do all our students go?" It was to be light and fun (and maybe a little playfully dark), and avoid the reality that our students just get up and move away because it is time for them to go... ...And I cannot find the space in my head today to spin a fictional yarn. Perhaps some other day... You see, I am distracted this morning by emotions that stretch back almost twenty years, and yet cycle annually for me. Each year stronger. Each year more complex. Each year dragging forward the feelings and stories from year's past in an ever-growing feedback-loop of reminiscence...

I know where the students actually go. It is not a mystery like in Blue Beard's tale, squirreled away in a creative writing macabre ending; they just walk away because it is time for them to do so...

Sweet Melancholy: You see, it's that time of year again. Graduation. Pride, loss, hope & laughter, tears, hugs, awkward silences... happy melancholy; they all flood me each year starting around 5pm graduation night and pushing me to linger as the last families drive away from the high school around 7pm...

I teach for a living. I am blessed with roughly 100 kids a year to try to teach and learn from. I receive the sacred trust that is forced by a compulsory public educational system with great humility and seriousness. I work hard and invest myself in my student's lives well beyond the social studies curriculum I try to effectively teach. I get to feel a sense of satisfaction when my students succeed, and suffer great remorse, sadness, and perhaps a modicum of guilt & regret when their lives become unmanageable...

1st person singular and plural: Perhaps you noticed that the paragraph above contains half-a-dozen "I" statements, hardly the model of selflessness that is expected from an educator, mentor, advisor that seems to be affected deeply be seeing yet another group of beautiful souls stepping out into a wider world. You see, it is not selfless work we do. It is deeply selfish. We believe in what we do and who we work with. We strive to do what we think is best for them, trying to anchor our decisions in best practice, data analysis, collegial conversations and comparison. We try to be purposeful in our actions, hoping to have meaningful and positive impact on our charges of future promise. And yet we sometimes fly by the seat of our pants; we make it up on the spot; we experiment with tactics and strategies, hoping to do no harm and helping our children, our young adults, our growing-ups to find their way to something positive, meaningful, and forward progressing...

Possessiveness that I find wonderful: The last paragraph had 10 instances of "we," that collective 1st person use that speaks to our efforts beyond individual ego. That idea of community, of collective responsibility, of shared values and expectations.  It also used 7 occurrences of "our." It is a possessiveness that points to the relationship that happens in classrooms and schools where the lives of students matter... not in the abstract, but in the personal, real, and persistent relationships that we try to form there.

And yet, today's post is not about "we," or "our;" It is about "me" and "my" today. It is about a sense of wonderful loss that is delightful and powerfully sad all in one go. It is the realization that I was taught this lesson long ago, I just didn't know it then. But I understand now. I've been understanding more and more each year...

A short anecdote that has helped me learn some perspective: Years ago I went to grad school, and I worked in an academic library, and I formed friendships there. I was employed for four years in a reasonably small back room where books are received, processed, catalogued, and placed into circulation for the rest of the world to use or ignore as they please. When it was time for me to move on from the city to start a new teaching-life in the beautiful rural foothills of the Appalachians (only 3-ish hours from my library friends) my closest friend—an older brother figure with more experience and wisdom in the world, often positive, amazingly insightful, and just plain fun to be around—withdrew a bit and offered a "no offense" statement to me that surprised me at the time. It's a paraphrase that is only accurate in the general intent (It was almost 20 years ago now): "No offense, but every time I invest friendship in our student employees, they just end up leaving, and I am tired of it. I shouldn't make any more 'new-buddies' if they just end up leaving over and over again." It's a paraphrase, like I said. It is most likely not what was said, it is what I heard though. I was mildly hurt that day, feeling a little rebuked, but more-so just confused. I planned to "come home" often. I was only moving a few hours away. It wasn't good bye; it was just minor distance. But my friend was right... For a year or so I "went home" often for live music and short visits, often doing the return drive through the night to arrive back at my new home as the sun came up. And then I had children. Sleep trumped the six hour driving investment to see a few hours of friends and music. My trips to the city night life and my friend's world of live music and no-matter-what softball early Saturday mornings did not mesh well with a new family settling down 3 hours away. I have returned only twice since then. How lame... and clearly proof that my friend was right... I had left him...

But I have paid attention to him, and he to me; the relationship changed, but sustained because it was right to be so. The lesson I have learned: It hurts to watch my students leave. Although I feel great pride, and hope, and happiness, I am also aware that I am being left behind, no longer meaningful and critical for most of them; as they are to me, all 1600+ of them...

And yet some of them return and visit, and reach out digitally at the most unexpected times; some of my old charges become "buddies" of sorts and I feel renewed each time they touch base with their aging teacher of old. I fear that I should not make "new buddies" as each new class arrives, and yet always seem to let another batch of 100 in, just as I am sure (in fact, I know) that my mentor/buddy/friend from my library days continues to allow "new buddies" into his life as well, and also keeps up with a few of the old ones who move on...

Signed, A humbled Marine. Semper Fi…

Memorial Day: I am a teacher. I teach social studies in a beautiful corner of the foothills of the Green Mountains and in the shade of the Taconics in Appalachia. I am mindful today of both the wonderful benefit of a three-day weekend for my students' and my own sanity as we move into the final hours of the school year (exams are coming!), as well as the reason we have a three-day weekend in the first place: Memorial day...

“Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.” ― Gérard de Nerval: Main street is lined with American flags, spring flowers are in their full glory here at 1000 feet (we have a late bloom), the cemeteries have been appropriately planted with geraniums, and marker flags have been swapped out with new and clean annual replacements. Monday is a day for remembrance and gratitude. It is not a day for sirens nor candy thrown from the firetrucks as we drive and march down the parade route. It is a quiet day. A cook-out later may be appropriate, no doubt, but only after some quiet reflection... 

I have some friends who have served in a way that I did not: So I though I would offer an old friend's words for my blog this week. He is a man of character, although I only knew him well when we were all young boys aspiring to be men, and had no clue of our adult-self's paths. Since then I have gleaned parts of his path through social media; most impressively to me was his choice to serve as a Marine. This past week my friend Alex posted some thoughts to his "feed" that echoed thoughts I have had in the past. With his permission I offer them here...

A Veteran’s Request for Memorial Day

My friends, I have a favor to ask of you… It’s something that’s been on my mind for a few years but I’ve never quite figured out how to say it, until now.

The favor I ask is this: Please, don’t thank me this weekend. Don’t thank me for my service. Don’t thank me for my sacrifice. Don’t thank my veteran friends for their service or their sacrifice. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment. I do. We do. But we’re still here, and Memorial Day isn’t about us.

Memorial Day also isn’t really about the start of summer or barbecues or beaches. But I enjoy a cold beer and a good burger too, and it’s part of what we all fought to preserve after all, so no harm there. As long as you can take a moment to remember why we have the day.

If you want to do something to acknowledge the men and women who have worn the uniform, then take a moment to bow your heads and be grateful of those who laid down their lives for our nation. The way we will be doing. Think of them before you thank us.

And when you hear a Veteran say things like “Don’t thank me”, I hope you won’t be offended. Please don’t be hurt if someone reminds you that Memorial Day is not Veteran’s Day. Don’t think us obnoxious or ungrateful. We’re not.

What we Veterans are, is humbled. Humbled by those who went before us. Humbled by those who made the ultimate sacrifice. That’s why it’s sometimes hard to hear “thank you” over Memorial Day. Because the truth is, we don’t feel worthy of your thanks. Not on this weekend.

To many people Veterans are heroes, but to us, our heroes are the men and women buried in Arlington, laid to rest in hometowns across our country, and the ones who never came home. These are the real heroes. They are our friends and brothers and sisters in arms who gave their last full measure of devotion for our nation. Whether we knew them or not, we feel the weight of their loss. They are missed.

So if you want to thank me, do me a favor and get back to me in November. I’ll be really appreciative you thought of me then. But for now, I just want the focus to be on my heroes, the real heroes. The ones no longer with us.

Signed,
A humbled Marine. Semper Fi…

Forecast: 78 degrees with rain ending early:

So take a moment, remember those who served, and died...

and enjoy the peace of gathering together in crowds to remember those who sacrificed for the rest of us...

notice the flags and flowers and your friends around you...

and then go enjoy the glorious and blessed life that is all around all of us...

"I'll stop the world and melt with you..."

"Moving forward using all my breath": So I was thinking about the 1980s this week. Middle school. You know, that time when somewhere around 7th and 8th grade when the boys shoot up a foot over the summer, big goofy heads, lanky limbs, and out-of-sorts in so many ways. We had dances back then called "mixers." Oh, what fun they were... and terrifying! The girls were bright and delightful, the boys, dense and confused...

"Making love to you was never second best": Back-in-that-day (the days of big shoes and skinny legs, poofy hair and braced-teeth smiles) we were full of passionate intensity. Each dance, each date (often in groups to the movies or meeting up at the skating rink) was epic! Going out meant talking on the phone late at night, cord stretched as far down the hall as possible to get out of ear shot of a brother or parent passing by the stairwell a floor below. Long relationships might last even for a few months. Each time we held hands or actually worked up the nerve to steal a kiss, it was the best moment we'd ever had. Each time...

"I saw the world thrashing all around your face": My perceptions of those dances back then are warped no doubt, but my approach across the parquet floor, stumbling through the refracted mirror ball light toward a pretty smiling-eyes girl on the other side of the room was fraught with the anxiety that my ineptness was showing. I've learned since those middle school days that most of the time the girls were so nervous about being asked to dance, that they didn't notice our desperate awkwardnesses. Those girls who did notice were perhaps too worldly or fast for us more dorky boys. But we didn't know that then, and so had to summon our courage learned from watching various protagonists in John Hughes films...

"Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace:" We danced to the most horrid stuff back then; a horror only further compounded by this generation's glorification of 80s synth pop. But when we were in the midst of growing out of our grade-school naiveté and groping through the new world of adolescent socialization, the music's poppy sound and subtly dark lyrics were spot on.  One of the classics worth holding on to though was Modern English; remembered for it's one new-wave dance song Melt with You. Most people don't know the rest of their material which was most definitely not middle school dance music: post-punk, gothic, new wave lable-mates with This Mortal Coil and Bauhaus; this stuff was deep and compelling. Robbie Grey described their experimentally artistic album Mesh and Lace as a “barren landscape, [with] heavy drumming, distorted guitar, and wailing vocals….” (What a great description of the reality of middle school romance)...

I'll stop the world and melt with you": But each time we found our way across the dance floor, our hearts in our throats, our mouths dry with fear, trying to keep our eyes on the goal, but not daring to stare too much, we approached with a lurking fear; until that smile melted us. That smile! It reassured us. It made the moment real and immediate and manageable. And then we dared to look into those eyes and heaven was brought down to earth. As long as the DJ played music and the lights stayed low, time stood still...

"You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time
There's nothing you and I won't do
I'll stop the world and melt with you..."

and it was good...