Marry Someone Who…

March 29, 2012 by 3 Comments

It’s a good thing to know you married the right woman. I suppose this is an ode. I wrote one for her once before, a song before we were married which said, “The road is long between our two towns,” but I don’t remember all the words and I’d have to go looking for the manuscript, which is a problem in our basement full of unpacked boxes. Thirty years of marriage and two children result in a lot of boxes.

So how does one know? Start by marrying a person who will drive from Madison to Evanston to the home of a new grandson so she can hold him between feedings, ignore everyone and everything else in the room, and do nothing but study his face and murmur to him for three hours straight.

Marry someone who prepares for moving by digging up snowflowers and asparagus given to her by her grandfather twenty years ago and irises given to her by my father and replanting them over the winter in a friend’s garden and then driving two hours in the spring to dig them back up to replant in our new yard. These are not flowers; these are valuable legacies left to her by loved ones. She treats people the same way.

Marry someone who loves to paint rooms, has an unerring eye for color, and is so good that she never needs to “tape” edges or woodwork. I do ceilings – with overlapping dropcloths, and when she laughs at my ineptitude, I pull out my Bunbury excuse, “You know I had a detached retina fixed.” Marry someone who lets you use the re-attached retina excuse on everything from painting ceilings to forgetting to pick up milk.

Marry someone who doesn’t want a king-sized bed and would rather “spoon.”

Marry someone whose first choice in cars is the oldest, boxiest Jeep she can find, and only then when Wagoneers are no longer available.

Marry someone who will fill a blackboard-painted wall with a colored chalk drawing to welcome home the new grandson, and do that after a day spent in scrubbing sinks, countertops, doing laundry and cajoling a repairman to rush over that day to fix the dryer by convincing the business owner that a new mother and her baby can’t possibly come home to a broken dryer.

Marry someone who needs less than five minutes to get “sucked in” to an old black-and-white movie on Turner Classic Movies, even a two-star movie, someone who enjoys the vintage clothes as much as the characters, and assumes that the plot doesn’t matter.

Marry someone who owns a lake out in the deep woods of the Upper Peninsula, especially if she has a brother who’s an engineer who knows how to build solar-panels and hook them up to a refrigerator, one who loves solar showers. Marry someone who can row a boat and will force her husband out of the tent at night just to look at the stars… not the pathetic suburban dozen or so lights that peep through the urban night clutter, but the honest-to-god Milky Way and shooting stars that still live in the U.P.

Marry someone whose favorite possession is a 50-year-old Peugeot ten-speed bicycle inherited from her aunt.

Marry someone who volunteers every week in her new friend’s second grade class because one student in particular needs one-on-one help. Marry someone who knows this is how to keep the same friends for over 50 years.

Marry someone who calls for computer help because she believes the computer will explode if she hits the wrong button. Marry someone who almost believes you if you tell her it might.

Marry someone who fills entire jump drives with digital pictures of clouds and fields taken out of a moving car – pictures that she might paint some day.

Marry someone who reads the Arts Calendar with the same intensity as she reads The Secret Life of Bees.

Marry someone who knows that music is not a monologue; it is a conversation.

Marry someone who knows that football is a father-son adventure; fly fishing is like yoga or meditation; the woods are as sacred as church; water must be painted as if it is alive; the right kind of warm light bulb matters; friends are more important than money; a lonely day is a day with fewer than a dozen phone calls; hot buttered popcorn with lots of salt is its own food group and popcorn is a requirement for old black-and-white movies on the Turner Classic Movies network.

Marry someone who remembers all the names for the faces you recognize, but can’t remember where her dozen reading glasses are.

Marry someone who will badger you to take a nighttime walk, especially if it looks and sounds like rain on its way.

Marry someone who will see a high school fight brewing in a parking lot and will drive her car at a crawl right into the middle of them even though she is alone, horn blaring the whole time, until the kids get scared and run away.

Marry someone who favors old things: houses, friends, books, jeans, furniture, recipes, coffee mugs, jewelry, family stories, and a husband.

Marry someone who laughs like a little girl, wears honesty like a tiara, prays a blessing every time a helicopter flies over our house to the nearby hospital, walks up to the high school when she hears a bagpipe band practicing, and babysits for friends so she can adopt their children. There are never enough children.

Follow these guidelines, my friends, and you will marry the right woman.

Filed Under: Humor, Modern Life, Philosophy, Social Media Tagged With: , , , ,

Modes of Thinking

February 12, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Yesterday I went to the Flyfishing Federation’s “Opener” in Madison and listened to a talk by one one of the best writers and flyfishers in America, Dave Hughes. Surprisingly, he began his presentation by recommending one of my favorite books, Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell. His point was that the more you fish or know about anything, the more you can trust your instantaneous intuition or judgment about it — where the trout are, whether you can believe what someone just said, or who this person standing before you really is. That led me to thinking about thinking. Here’s what I think…..

I have experienced the truth that an immediate thought about someone or something, an intuition or immediate feeling, almost without thinking, is most often true. You may not be able to judge a book by its cover, but if along with the cover you sense the condition of the book, hear an opening line, notice the poor spelling, the lack of punctuation, and the sense that you are being drained while merely holding this book, trust your judgment.

I’ve also noticed that in most discussions, especially those that may be heated or confrontational, men are at a disadvantage. Women process feelings more quickly, and often men (or at least I as a man) don’t think of what I really meant to say until the next day. It doesn’t really matter because nearly all arguments are useless. Even if you win, the couple loses. Jackson Browne said it in “Tender is the Night,” when he sang, “I win; you win; we lose.” I believe I have been saved from many difficult apologies by NOT being able to say something hurtful or defensive until I think of it the next day when there is no opportunity to say it. In any disagreement that is not about safety or probable disaster, given a choice between being right and being kind, always choose being kind. All relationships are reciprocal, and no one really wins unless both win.

I also know that much of our thinking is comparative. Making comparisons is a useful tool that allows us to get through an ordinary day. It’s important to be able to compare green lights, yellow lights and red lights. That is especially true when she says “Well….okay.” Is that really a green light or a yellow? However, most comparisions are not that helpful. As I’ve written before, who is the better artist, Van Gogh or Matisse, Beethoven or Mozart? Why am I not as lucky/rich/handsome/popular as….. Such comparisions really are odious. I need to be careful of such dangerous thinking.

The thinking I find most intriguing is “deep well” thinking. This most often is creative thinking. Like a deep well, getting anything out of our superconscious takes time, and the deeper the well, the longer it takes to get that bucket of cold, clear water up to the surface. I read that Mark Twain worked for quite a while on his masterpiece Huckleberry Finn, the book some have called the Great American Novel. I agree that it is not a young adult book, more the coming-of-age book for an entire culture. Halfway through his manuscript, Twain had Huck and the slave Jim a long ways down river, with no way to get them back to Hannibal or end his story. He put his manuscript in the back of his roll top desk. Two years later, Livvy insisted he clean out his firetrap of an office, including his half-smoked cigars. He found the manuscript, read the last few chapters, and immediately knew how to write the rest of the story. He said he finished it in less that seven weeks. We’ve all had “aha!” moments while not consciously working on a problem. The solutions come in the shower, on a walk, while shaving, and sometimes while talking to someone. My advice is: trust what comes out of your well. Most often it will be helpful. We are wondrous creatures. The miracle continues. Drink deeply from the well; the water is cold, pure, and soul refreshing.

Filed Under: Philosophy, Self help

What a Piece of Work We Are

February 5, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Yes, bears have a better sense of smell because they need it; yes, eagles have better eyes because they need them; yes, lions can run faster because they must, but….

Have you ever noticed that you can feel whether the ultra-thin looseleaf you just picked up is one sheet or two? Amazing. Because of that sense we can play piano and caress a lover. Poor bears. Have you ever noticed that thousands of hairs can hang down your neck or over your temples, but only the single hair that is unattached “itches” enough that you can tell it is not part of you anymore and you must pick it away? Poor lions. Have you ever noticed you can tell which family member is walking up the stairs by the mere sound signature of her walk? You cannot hear what dogs hear, but you can tell when the alto next to you is singing a B flat instead of a B. Poor eagles. With practice, you can tell twins apart. You can type 50 words per minute. You can tell when your wife says “whatever” whether she really means it doesn’t matter to her or it really matters a lot. Poor eagles can’t laugh. Or kiss.

I will admit that I am making unfair comparisons, and I believe most comparisons are pointless. For example, who is the better artist, Van Gogh or Matisse? Good luck with that one. The point is that we need not make comparisons to animals to realize our magnificence. We can do almost anything we choose with desire and practice. We can read. We can read music. We can love. We can remember. My wife tells me anyone can learn to draw. If you don’t believ\e her, page through any book by Betty Edwards, especially Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. Consider all the things a quarterback, a point guard, or a pitcher can do at the same time. Look at a pianist very closely and you will see how his left hand can play independently of his right hand, as if he has two brains, which he does.

For us, even the ordinary is magnificent. Dot an “i.” Waltz or moon walk. If you want to learn to play guitar, really want to, you can. Anyone. If you want to write a book, really want to, you can. If I can, you can.

So what is next for us? In our magnificence, I believe we will soon cure cancer by identifying and limiting the proteins and other compounds that cancer cells need to reproduce. We will also learn to program our T cells, the infection killers in our bodies, how to tell the difference between cancer cells and normal cells. Even better, we will learn what turns cancer cells on to prevent them from happening.

In our magnificence. we will learn to communicate in ways that are respectful, non-violent, and enlightened. Heaven knows (and heaven really does know), we need that amazing skill right now in this political year. Read Non-Violent Communication by Marshall Rosenberg, who studied under Carl Rogers at the University of Wisconsin.

In our magnificence, we will solve our energy needs. It will be electrical, solar, and biological, not petroleum-based.

It’s time to get excited. As the poster by George Takei says, “Your excuse is invalid.”

Filed Under: Philosophy, Self help

Good Viruses

January 30, 2012 by Leave a Comment

This has been an interesting week. Early in the week, an ex-student sent a recommendation for a music video out on Facebook. I don’t usually watch those, because there are such differences in music these days, and so much I hear from younger people is either un-melodic and offensive rap, or something approaching mere noise. I’m not saying they’re bad; I’m saying I don’t have the “ear” for them. This one was different. I recommend doing a Youtube search for his recommendation, Charlie Pluth and Emily Luther singing Adele’s “Someone Like You.” It blows away the original, and what what makes it fascinating is that apparently Charlie regularly records the sound in his room, and this version shows two very attractive, very innocent looking young people just sitting in a living room and singing. And wow, can they sing. What’s more interesting is that their video went viral because it and Adele’s song are so good. There was no hype, no record company, no long tour with Springsteen, just two talented kids in a living room. Eventually the video got to Ellen Degeneres and she featured them on her show after getting Adele’s generous permission to sing her song. Then Ellen signed them to a record contract, and I’m sure they will do well (with or without the contract, I believe).

This viral video reminds me of something I read about five years ago, a book called An Army of Davids. It documents the growing probability that large corporations, especially trendy ones like record companies and booksellers will eventually be driven out of business because of their enormous pressures for profit, their expensive infrastructures, and their lack of creativity. It has already happend to B. Dalton, Crown Books, and a growing list of music stores. They can’t compete with kids in a living room, the internet, and Amazon. There are good viruses out there.

That’s part of the reason why I chose to market my book Hibernal through Createspace and Amazon. The publishing house game is “fixed.” When I published my first book, The Newman Assignment, my dealings with the publisher were not of any mutual benefit. No royalties, no reports, and corrections I sent were either ignored or hand lettered, if you can believe that. Of course, marketing through Amazon means I won’t have any life-sized cardboard cutouts of my book at Barnes and Noble with stacks of books nearby to satisfy the hype, but I’d rather sell “long and slow,” preferably by word of mouth. If my book is good, readers will eventually hear about it. If they don’t buy it, it wasn’t good enough. Of course I’m still dealing with a large corporation in Amazon, but the difference is, it is working for me. I buy only the services I want and they’re not telling me what to do. They are making a trailer video for me, but I get input and approval. This could be a good virus.

My daughter, Ellie, is finding the same thing. Her idea about teaching writing in her high school by having students “Be the Source of” (love, a compliment, a breakfast, a favor, a dollar to a stranger, a thank-you) and then writing about the experience – has gone to other schools, other parts of the country, and soon, other parts of the world. She’s been interviewed, linked to other blogs, and given free web design time by a professional who often charges up to $10,000.00 for a web design. She uploads her own videos, samples from her students, comments, and plans for the next week. If you’re interested in something educational and good, check out bethesource.com. It will be worth a couple of minutes. No corporation is involved.

On my birthday, (61 last week!) Ann and I walked down State Street in Madison and saw a young guy walkiing his bike with a trailer and cardboard sign. “Hey,” Ann said, “You’re the muffin man!” She had seen it in an article in the free Isthmus paper. He bakes a batch of muffins every morning and rides around Madison, giving them away to anyone who will barter for something on his cardboard list. You may give a stranger a back rub, sit in a coffee shop and introduce yourself to four strangers, or in my agreement, teach someone how to play a musical instrument. He is the source of love, and his bartering is going viral. There are good viruses out there. They’re in the streets, in free papers, and online. Your friends will tell you about them.

Filed Under: Philosophy, Social Media

Close Calls

January 23, 2012 by Leave a Comment

As a believer in synchronicity, I regularly wonder about seemingly disconnected events that somehow MAY be connected if I can figure them out. I believe that close calls really were meant to be warnings, especially to teenagers and the elderly. Whether there were guardian angels hovering nearby or just the playing out of some mathmatical probability designed ages ago, I can’t say, and I have found when I can’t figure something out, it doesn’t matter.
It would have been about forty-three years ago, I remember one when good friend Bob and I had just gotten our licenses and for some adolescent reason were so proud of ourselves that we chased each other in old family cars out Airport Road west of Waterloo, Illinois. It wasn’t a drag race, just enjoying speed and freedom and our youthful exuberance. I had forgotten after one long straight stretch how sharp a ninety-degree turn was, and when I applied the brakes, they didn’t seem to work, I pumped them but not much happened. I didn’t know then that mushy brakes meant a master cylinder about to go. I was lucky in that a gravel private road led off Airport Road at the end of the straightaway and I didn’t have to make the turn. I couldn’t have done it, so I bounced down the gravel road until the car stopped. That was the end of my chasing anyone in a car.
Two weeks ago, coming home at night, we drove past our local coffee shop, The Froth House, and I slowed to peek in the large front windows because I knew on Tuesdays and Thursdays there was live music there. Happy people filled its “living room.” I had forgotten how narrow Allen Street is when cars are parked along it, and just in the nick of time, turned my attention back to driving to swerve and miss a parked car by inches. From now on, Ann will look in the window of the Froth House and tell me if a crowd has gathered for the music.
On Sunday mornings, I meet Ellie at a colffee house to talk, write this blog, and have a regular father-daughter breakfast. She usually corrects papers or works on her BetheSource blog. this time, I was so rushed to get a humidifier to ease my cracked fingers that I left Lazy Jane’s without my backpack and iPad. When I realized it, I called Ellie to see if she was still there. She had just left but drove back, found my pack, and asked the barristas to keep it. I drove back to find it in a closet. I now check for my backpack, even when I don’t take it with me.
A most recent version of CNN had an article about re-programming your brain, with four steps to be more efficient. The one I will practice most is to focus on one thing at a time. Women may multi-task. I don’t recommend it for men, especially once you reach 61 as I will, later this week. I believe with focus, slowing down, meditation, and simple presence, I won’t need as many close calls, and I’m sure my guardian angel, if I have one, will be a lot happier. Thank you, Bob. I heard that suggestion once in meditation that his name is Bob. That’s why I’m not sure that I have one. Who ever heard of a guardian angel named Bob? As Jimmy Stewart said to Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life, “Yeah, you’re probably the kind of guardian angel I would get.” No offense, Bob, but if you’re name is unpronouncable, couldn’t you use something like Uriel, or Barush?
Anyway, enjoy your close calls everyone, and heed them. Master cylinders don’t last forever.

Filed Under: Philosophy

Little Things Are Big

January 15, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Having just caught a cold, I am reminded how important one’s usually ignored body parts are, in my case – sinuses. What is a sinues but a nothing, a cavity, a membrane or lining that a rhinovirus (so aptly named) simply loves. Right now, my adopted rhinoviri have made my sinuses into a garden. I don’t even want to think about the dandelions and thistles they are growing there. If I write stupid or disconnected things today, I’m blaming my adopted rhinovirii.
Little things are important. There were many times over the thirty-six years when I taught high school when I could hardly rhino myself to sit down and grade papers. Unlike the current educational bean-counters, politicians, and deformers (sorry, I meant “re-formers”), I knew all along that multiple choice assessments are of very limited use and certainly not able to reflect what students actually know or can do. My only solution to my motivation problem – go small. I paid myself one M & M or a few kernels of hot, buttered popcorn per paper. You want more popcorn, Lazybones? Read another paper. My students never knew it, but I’m also convinced they got better feedback because of chocolate, or salt and butter.
Little things are important. I read somewhere along the line (Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus?) that women are aggravatingly good at keeping score and they never forget. For a sex which is not nearly as obsessed with sports, points, or winning, I thought this was unfair, especially since most men like me are not nearly as adept at discussing feelings, processing subtleties, or verbal multi-tasking. I can barely be in a room with three women conversing. It’s like looking at a cubist painting under a strobe light. I suppose my wife would describe me as “a slow moving train.” Reposte for me usually occurs within in twenty-four hour period. However, it eventually occurred to me that the point system with women is actually a wonderful thing and is greatly to my advantage, primarily because of female sub-rule. All points are equal. So a new pair of gifted earrings, a sweet love note, cleaning the bathroom or checking the oil on her car and filling it up with gas — all count the same with my wife. This is amazing! What an advantage a guy has, as soon as he realizes this. How unlucky women are. After all, with men, a hug is not the same number of points as a kiss. Cleaning the bathroom, if even noticed at all, may not count for more than a single point.
No one can write a novel. A writer can only write a sentence, a thought at a time and keep going. Anyone who sets out to do a 500 page book will get stymied along the way. The same, I hope is true of bookselling. This week, the second week after Hibernal came out on Amazon in paperback, I sold 42 copies, with a few more on Kindle. Little things are important.
Little things are important. This truth is all over. A guitar only a little out of tune hurts my ears. A cold day with only a little wind seems so much colder. If you’re a Wisconsin Badger fan, you know the importance of two seconds at the end of games. A little nutmeg in eggnog makes a difference. A little note. A little thank you. A little sun. A little smile. A single cup of coffee. A single kiss. One M & M. Because we live in the now and now and can’t really go back or forward, the most important things are moment by moment. If you doubt or want more philosophical underpinning, read Eckart Tolle, The Power of Now.
Little things are important. Little moments. Because that is so, it is now time for you to stop reading and go do something important.

Filed Under: Philosophy

Winning

January 8, 2012 by Leave a Comment

A man and his wife walked along the lake shore on a nearly calm, cool evening.
“Look at that,” said the husband, “that rich bastard.” He pointed out toward a sailboat gliding over the smooth lake like a swan. “Do you know what a boat like that costs?”
“No,” said his wife. “Is it a lot?”
“More than what an honest man can earn, I’ll tell you.” He shook his head sadly, and one arm flapped uselessly against his thigh.
His wife took his arm and looked again at the boat, noticing how beautiful the scene was, the mirrored water, the sinking sun silhouetting the graceful boat, its filling sail and the curve of its jib. A thin wake rippled behind it, making the water look like furls of purple and silver, blue and white. Behind it, narrow streaks of clouds glowed pink. “Oh my,” she said. “It’s-”
“What?” said her husband.
“Beautiful, simply beautiful.”
Out on the lake, the captain checked the trim of his sails, smiled a little at the slight curl of his sails and felt the smooth glide of his hull. He wished for a few more knots of breeze, but it was not to be. He looked toward the shore and took in the soft curve of the beach like a reclining woman’s hip and slender legs. “Oh,” he whispered, “if only Mary were here. If only Mary-” but it also was not to be. He looked again at the deepening shadows behind the beach and saw the couple strolling in leisurely peace along the beautiful strand.
“Lucky bastard,” he murmured.
Who wins?

Filed Under: Philosophy
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