From my new office I can just see the tips of the Tetons off in the distance to the east. Sadly, my first Idaho winter is nearly half over and I've yet to strap on my skiis and head over to Grand Targhee. Which sort of fits the pattern of my first winter here in Idaho. Too much work and not enough play.
Don't get me wrong. Having a good job and work to do is a nice thing- especially for someone trying to support a large family. And the extra work before me right now is the result of a nice job change and career leadership opportunity. But it has caused a tremor in the delicate work-life balance I've labored to create in my life ever since becoming an adult. Years ago I worked with a man- Ray Larson, who stressed the importance of using leave time as it accrued. Ray regulary golfed, fished, played basketball and spent time with family and friends traveling and being with them. Ray retired shortly thereafter having followed the "use it, don't lose it" mantra throughout his adult life.
The result for Ray was a life full of love, friendship, family activities, hobbies and service. Ray's philosophy was that accumulated leave time was symptomatic of a life unlived. Or in other words, it's important not to put off living today for you never know what tomorrow will bring. Sort of a modern equivalent of the old proverb, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy". And in the end, living a life that balanced the past, present and future served Ray very well. When a couple years into his retirement he suffered from a minor stroke following surgery (to replace a bum knee from playing basketball into his mid-60s), Ray was quickly surrounded by a loving family and group of friends to help him pass gracefully and quickly through the rehab and back to good health.
My own father lived a well balanced live. At the time I was a teenager he made the decision to step away from his steady 9-5 job and work a small start up opportunity so he'd have more flexibility for family time. We took extended summer trips- many of them to the Tetons, during those years and I was blessed with a rich and wonderful father-son relationship at a key time in my teenage life.
So, back to where this began. My view of the Tetons reminds me of the need for balance. As the Preacher said in Ecclesiastes 3: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Morning After
Two weeks ago I became a grandpa. Yesterday I became a "former bishop". And shortly I will leave my current employment as I begin the next leg of my professional journey. The end of June we will move to a new town in a new state. The experience of waking up the morning after important changes in life is one worth noting. Others have helpfully suggested how I should or might feel about these important events. I'm still figuring out how I feel about change in general but do have some thoughts accumulated the morning after a couple of these events.
The morning after becoming a grandpa, my first waking thought was that now I am married to a grandma. Yikes! I realize that this means my lovely bride is now married to a grandpa but somehow it felt to me that I was the one that got older while she stayed the same age. My image of a grandma is viewed through the lens of my own experience with my special, old-fashioned grandmothers. They were fun, energetic older women who had long since raised their own children. They were spunky with energy to spare while playing with me as a boy, had endless patience with me as I went through the awkward middle school years, and were there to dispense white haired wisdom as I moved from teenager to adult. For as long as I can remember they seemed to be much older and wiser than I would ever be. So, as much as I have always loved and admired my grandmas, I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined being old enough to be married to one.
I remember once when we called one of my grandmas to wish her well on her 88th birthday. The daughter who just made me a grandpa was just a tiny girl then and she asked my grandma, "How old are you?". "I'm 88 years old, sweetheart" grandma replied, to which my daughter exclaimed, "WOW, that's old!". My grandma chuckled as she always did. The morning after realizing I am now married to a grandma I think I felt a little bit like my little daughter did. Wow!
After being released as bishop a number of people asked how it felt. Some suggested I should feel relieved while others mentioned the inevitable let down to follow. I just went home from Church afterwards, took a nap and then hung out with my family. It was great! One of the new counselors stopped by later in the afternoon with his kids and some "thank you" cookies. I asked how his day was going and he said he was on his way back up to the church to finish some accounting duties. I smiled and wished him well in his new assignment.
And now the morning after I realize that it is time for me to press forward in my own personal spiritual journey. I need to keep doing the small things that bishops and missionaries have ever counseled people to do- pray regularly and sincerely, study the scriptures, honor sacred covenants, be obedient, be humble, seek inspiration and guidance from Heavenly Father, and continue serving others. I look forward to all of these though I realize that during the transition months to come it will be a challenge to maintain any sort of routine.
But hey, regularity seems to be the perfect goal for someone who's now married to a grandma.
The morning after becoming a grandpa, my first waking thought was that now I am married to a grandma. Yikes! I realize that this means my lovely bride is now married to a grandpa but somehow it felt to me that I was the one that got older while she stayed the same age. My image of a grandma is viewed through the lens of my own experience with my special, old-fashioned grandmothers. They were fun, energetic older women who had long since raised their own children. They were spunky with energy to spare while playing with me as a boy, had endless patience with me as I went through the awkward middle school years, and were there to dispense white haired wisdom as I moved from teenager to adult. For as long as I can remember they seemed to be much older and wiser than I would ever be. So, as much as I have always loved and admired my grandmas, I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined being old enough to be married to one.
I remember once when we called one of my grandmas to wish her well on her 88th birthday. The daughter who just made me a grandpa was just a tiny girl then and she asked my grandma, "How old are you?". "I'm 88 years old, sweetheart" grandma replied, to which my daughter exclaimed, "WOW, that's old!". My grandma chuckled as she always did. The morning after realizing I am now married to a grandma I think I felt a little bit like my little daughter did. Wow!
After being released as bishop a number of people asked how it felt. Some suggested I should feel relieved while others mentioned the inevitable let down to follow. I just went home from Church afterwards, took a nap and then hung out with my family. It was great! One of the new counselors stopped by later in the afternoon with his kids and some "thank you" cookies. I asked how his day was going and he said he was on his way back up to the church to finish some accounting duties. I smiled and wished him well in his new assignment.
And now the morning after I realize that it is time for me to press forward in my own personal spiritual journey. I need to keep doing the small things that bishops and missionaries have ever counseled people to do- pray regularly and sincerely, study the scriptures, honor sacred covenants, be obedient, be humble, seek inspiration and guidance from Heavenly Father, and continue serving others. I look forward to all of these though I realize that during the transition months to come it will be a challenge to maintain any sort of routine.
But hey, regularity seems to be the perfect goal for someone who's now married to a grandma.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
A Sorting Hat
A couple days ago I overheard a little boy in Church mistake "Heavenly Father" for "Harry Potter". Worth a good smile and it also started me thinking about fun things I associate with Harry Potter. Like my son Jordan reading all of the books while still in elementary school. His class that year received points for reading. A book was assigned points based on its reading level and on how many pages it had. The Harry Potter books were a big hit and they were worth a ton of points, as I recall; a single Harry Potter book was worth about twenty "Captain Underpants" books. Jordan loved the series and would have read every book regardless, but he also enjoyed the fact that every time he read a Harry Potter book his class' point total about doubled.
From that train of thought my mind turned to the scene in the first Potter movie when Harry was selected to be a part of the Griffendor house. The selection was made by an old floppy, "sorting" hat. The hat was placed on the students head whereupon it would magically determine and shout out the right house for each of the newcomers to Hogwarts' school. Sometimes I wish I owned a sorting hat of my very own. It certainly would come in handy for sorting out the answers to some of life's persistent questions. And it had a great brim that would provide terrific sun protection.
From that train of thought my mind turned to the scene in the first Potter movie when Harry was selected to be a part of the Griffendor house. The selection was made by an old floppy, "sorting" hat. The hat was placed on the students head whereupon it would magically determine and shout out the right house for each of the newcomers to Hogwarts' school. Sometimes I wish I owned a sorting hat of my very own. It certainly would come in handy for sorting out the answers to some of life's persistent questions. And it had a great brim that would provide terrific sun protection.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Oops...where'd the time go?
Puxatony Phil just announced there will be 6 more weeks of winter. "If only", was my first reaction; Minnesota winters rarely end by mid-March. My next thought was to realize its been most of the winter since I jotted down a thought or two on this blog. The habit of regular writing has always been a hard one to establish. A couple of years ago a woman I know through work (and riding the bus) began telling me of her interest in writing children's stories. She had recently won an award for one of her short stories and had begun work on her first novel. Her mother was so excited about it that she helped her daughter set up and fund an annual writing contest. The prize is awarded to the best "short story" written on a selected theme each year. "Just write something every day", she would tell me.
This advice echoes what I've grown up hearing in other settings- keep a journal, jot down thoughts and feelings, create a record of experiences and moments of gratitude. Years ago I wrote a series of essays about the 1980s. Reading those now sort of makes me cringe because they were written by a younger me at a time in life when I had a pretty inflated sense of myself. Uffdah! Recently my sister gave me a nice new journal which sits on my nightstand...mostly gathering dust next to a couple other nearly empty journals I've acquired over the years. Each was purchased with similar good intentions. And yet in spite of these good intentions and how inspired I've felt at times to fill these journals with pithy prose, the habit of regular writing remains largely unformed. So I ask myself what my excuse is and where did the time go.
The truth is that my excuses are pretty thin. Part of it may be that I haven't defined my audience. Another may be the unflattering truth that I kind of yearn for an audience to encourage and cajole me to "write me another story". I don't know, but writing for myself seems a little narcissistic as does "writing for my posterity". Call it false humility, but my life isn't really ginning out the kind of experiences or events that make for a real page turner. No close encounters with wandering bandits, international terrorists or laughable comedians. Sure the people I live, work and interact with each have their own rich and interesting lives, with stories that have the normal ups and downs mingled with excitement. But it would take a higher level of skill than I possess to really capture their essence and do justice to their stories.
I'd like to think I have the potential to become a good writer that could tell interesting stories based on my experiences or the experiences of those I've met. Maybe even write a novel someday. And yet thus far I've lacked the fundamental discipline or creativity or inspiration or bankroll or cottage on the lake or driving competitiveness, or whatever else it is that's needed to succeed as a writer a world where "pretty good" writers are a dime a dozen.
Just writing that last paragraph has helped me realize that part of the reason I haven't cultivated the talent or formed the habit of regular writing is fear. Fear of wasting time, fear of writing something truly uninspiring, fear of laying it on the line and putting my heart and soul into something that others then find as stale as day old bread. Which is really a pretty poor excuse if you think about it. Because much of the value of writing comes the same way that learning comes to a teacher. The person attempting to teach regularly learns more than the student. Perhaps too with the writer: he just may learn a thing or two more than a reader could ever possibly do. In the process of creating and distilling and crafting the words into sentences and paragraphs, thoughts connect, themes emerge and direction appears. Finding a way to capture that process and preserve it for future reference is the key.
There is a more subtle form of fear lurking there in the shadows. And that is the fear of being either so boring or so irrelevant that whatever you write really doesn't matter to anybody. I've had the experience of reading my own journal entries from years past and thinking, "that's sure boring stuff" or "what a waste of paper and ink". Perhaps that's why the best writers find new and interesting ways to describe adventurous characters engaged in swashbuckling events. Its much harder to breathe life into the creases of everyday events. Yet there is certainly beauty in the routine and the mundane details of life. The challenge is to find the right words that reveal that beauty for all to see and enjoy.
This advice echoes what I've grown up hearing in other settings- keep a journal, jot down thoughts and feelings, create a record of experiences and moments of gratitude. Years ago I wrote a series of essays about the 1980s. Reading those now sort of makes me cringe because they were written by a younger me at a time in life when I had a pretty inflated sense of myself. Uffdah! Recently my sister gave me a nice new journal which sits on my nightstand...mostly gathering dust next to a couple other nearly empty journals I've acquired over the years. Each was purchased with similar good intentions. And yet in spite of these good intentions and how inspired I've felt at times to fill these journals with pithy prose, the habit of regular writing remains largely unformed. So I ask myself what my excuse is and where did the time go.
The truth is that my excuses are pretty thin. Part of it may be that I haven't defined my audience. Another may be the unflattering truth that I kind of yearn for an audience to encourage and cajole me to "write me another story". I don't know, but writing for myself seems a little narcissistic as does "writing for my posterity". Call it false humility, but my life isn't really ginning out the kind of experiences or events that make for a real page turner. No close encounters with wandering bandits, international terrorists or laughable comedians. Sure the people I live, work and interact with each have their own rich and interesting lives, with stories that have the normal ups and downs mingled with excitement. But it would take a higher level of skill than I possess to really capture their essence and do justice to their stories.
I'd like to think I have the potential to become a good writer that could tell interesting stories based on my experiences or the experiences of those I've met. Maybe even write a novel someday. And yet thus far I've lacked the fundamental discipline or creativity or inspiration or bankroll or cottage on the lake or driving competitiveness, or whatever else it is that's needed to succeed as a writer a world where "pretty good" writers are a dime a dozen.
Just writing that last paragraph has helped me realize that part of the reason I haven't cultivated the talent or formed the habit of regular writing is fear. Fear of wasting time, fear of writing something truly uninspiring, fear of laying it on the line and putting my heart and soul into something that others then find as stale as day old bread. Which is really a pretty poor excuse if you think about it. Because much of the value of writing comes the same way that learning comes to a teacher. The person attempting to teach regularly learns more than the student. Perhaps too with the writer: he just may learn a thing or two more than a reader could ever possibly do. In the process of creating and distilling and crafting the words into sentences and paragraphs, thoughts connect, themes emerge and direction appears. Finding a way to capture that process and preserve it for future reference is the key.
There is a more subtle form of fear lurking there in the shadows. And that is the fear of being either so boring or so irrelevant that whatever you write really doesn't matter to anybody. I've had the experience of reading my own journal entries from years past and thinking, "that's sure boring stuff" or "what a waste of paper and ink". Perhaps that's why the best writers find new and interesting ways to describe adventurous characters engaged in swashbuckling events. Its much harder to breathe life into the creases of everyday events. Yet there is certainly beauty in the routine and the mundane details of life. The challenge is to find the right words that reveal that beauty for all to see and enjoy.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Against the wind
Last week I found myself paddling "against the wind". Which led me to hum the Bob Seger song by that same name:
Against the wind
I'm still runnin' against the wind
Well I'm older now and still running
Against the wind.
It was while canoeing across a beautiful lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area of northern Minnesota up near Ely. The day was windy, gray and overcast. The colors of Fall were beginning to surface amidst the cold green pine forest. And on that day- as often seems to be the case, we found ourselves paddling against the wind on a lake where only days earlier we had paddled against the wind while coming inbound in the opposite direction. Whoever controls the weather up north seems to have an active sense of humor.
I've written before about the times when we experience the wind at our backs. Those moments of rest provide time for renewal and rejuvenation. They are welcome moments that seem to go away as quickly as they come. Running against the wind, on the other hand, seems to be more of a constant in life. The winds of life seem to blow steadily throughout our lives with occasional gusts and lulls that keep us alert. This adversity presents us the opportunity to grow and strengthen our muscles and our resolve to make it to the next shore. And after reaching that next shore we're given a measure of satisfaction.
Paddling against the wind influences our direction. The wind tries to push us to turn back or to one side or the other. And while it's tempting to paddle across or away from the wind, ultimately either of these options presents its own unique perils. Being sideways in the wind makes you vulnerable to tipping or having waves crash over the side of your canoe. Going with the wind takes you towards bigger waves. So- just as in life, short term gains canoeing can lead to long term problems. Paddling into the wind may take more effort, however, it causes you to navigate towards calmer water and minimizes the odds you'll tip or swamp the canoe.
Maybe paddling against the wind isn't so bad after all.
Against the wind
I'm still runnin' against the wind
Well I'm older now and still running
Against the wind.
It was while canoeing across a beautiful lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area of northern Minnesota up near Ely. The day was windy, gray and overcast. The colors of Fall were beginning to surface amidst the cold green pine forest. And on that day- as often seems to be the case, we found ourselves paddling against the wind on a lake where only days earlier we had paddled against the wind while coming inbound in the opposite direction. Whoever controls the weather up north seems to have an active sense of humor.
I've written before about the times when we experience the wind at our backs. Those moments of rest provide time for renewal and rejuvenation. They are welcome moments that seem to go away as quickly as they come. Running against the wind, on the other hand, seems to be more of a constant in life. The winds of life seem to blow steadily throughout our lives with occasional gusts and lulls that keep us alert. This adversity presents us the opportunity to grow and strengthen our muscles and our resolve to make it to the next shore. And after reaching that next shore we're given a measure of satisfaction.
Paddling against the wind influences our direction. The wind tries to push us to turn back or to one side or the other. And while it's tempting to paddle across or away from the wind, ultimately either of these options presents its own unique perils. Being sideways in the wind makes you vulnerable to tipping or having waves crash over the side of your canoe. Going with the wind takes you towards bigger waves. So- just as in life, short term gains canoeing can lead to long term problems. Paddling into the wind may take more effort, however, it causes you to navigate towards calmer water and minimizes the odds you'll tip or swamp the canoe.
Maybe paddling against the wind isn't so bad after all.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tares
It was rainy and cool over this past weekend. Even though I'm pretty much a "northerner" at this point it still catches me off guard when the low temps dip into the 40s and the high temps stay in the 50s in June. Cripes, its supposed to be summertime! The sun was out this morning for the first time since Friday. And it was a gorgeous morning (though it was still cool enough to wear a jacket and biking gloves). As I watched a soccer game in a cool drizzle on Saturday I remember wondering why it felt like April.
Writing about weather is mundane and about as boring a topic as you find. So, I'm not really sure why I do it other than that it provides a safe, neutral topic on which to warm up my neurons. With so many prickly topics in play these days, its nice to have a safeharbor where you can say whatever you want without offending anyone. Which gets me to thinking about the topics I find most troubling. And how to gather my thoughts on those topics for the inevitable discussions, debates, arguments and battles that appear to be at the doorstep. Perhaps a cool rainy June is just the wake up call I need to prepare for what lies ahead.
The biblical parable that comes to mind is that of the wheat and the tares. A certain landowner observed that someone had sown tare seeds in his wheat field and wondered what he should do about it. Now, I've never had a wheat field but I know what a healthy one looks like. I've also never had tares growing in my lawn, but I definely have had weeds. And I do have a yard that borders a public park in a city that doesn't believe in treating its parks for dandelions. Over the years I've watched as dandelion seeds drift over onto my lawn. Once they've taken hold its nearly impossibly to eliminate them. As an older farmer friend of mine once said of weeds, "One year of seeds, equals seven years of weeds". And so it goes.
Its amazing that an ancient parable still applies to me and the circumstances in my society in 2009. All around me I see tares being sown by people who are motivated to disrupt or destroy core values and societal patterns. Some sown the seeds for tares in their own gardens, others seek to broadcast and distribute the seeds far and wide. Others use strategem to have others hasten the spread and widen the distribution pattern. And gradually, with each coming gust of wind and wave of seeds, the infiltration grows in momentum.
Lawnowners can spray all the herbicide they want but dandelions seem to persist, leading some to consider using the nuclear, or "Round Up", option which works to destroy weeds for a season but also kills all that is good and beautiful in the process. As the ancient parable teaches, removing tares serves only to uproot and damage the wheat. Better to focus energy on strengthening the wheat's root structure so that it withstands the onslaught of tares, becomes beautiful for all to observe and ultimately is prepared for when it can be sorted from the tares at the next stage of its life.
Writing about weather is mundane and about as boring a topic as you find. So, I'm not really sure why I do it other than that it provides a safe, neutral topic on which to warm up my neurons. With so many prickly topics in play these days, its nice to have a safeharbor where you can say whatever you want without offending anyone. Which gets me to thinking about the topics I find most troubling. And how to gather my thoughts on those topics for the inevitable discussions, debates, arguments and battles that appear to be at the doorstep. Perhaps a cool rainy June is just the wake up call I need to prepare for what lies ahead.
The biblical parable that comes to mind is that of the wheat and the tares. A certain landowner observed that someone had sown tare seeds in his wheat field and wondered what he should do about it. Now, I've never had a wheat field but I know what a healthy one looks like. I've also never had tares growing in my lawn, but I definely have had weeds. And I do have a yard that borders a public park in a city that doesn't believe in treating its parks for dandelions. Over the years I've watched as dandelion seeds drift over onto my lawn. Once they've taken hold its nearly impossibly to eliminate them. As an older farmer friend of mine once said of weeds, "One year of seeds, equals seven years of weeds". And so it goes.
Its amazing that an ancient parable still applies to me and the circumstances in my society in 2009. All around me I see tares being sown by people who are motivated to disrupt or destroy core values and societal patterns. Some sown the seeds for tares in their own gardens, others seek to broadcast and distribute the seeds far and wide. Others use strategem to have others hasten the spread and widen the distribution pattern. And gradually, with each coming gust of wind and wave of seeds, the infiltration grows in momentum.
Lawnowners can spray all the herbicide they want but dandelions seem to persist, leading some to consider using the nuclear, or "Round Up", option which works to destroy weeds for a season but also kills all that is good and beautiful in the process. As the ancient parable teaches, removing tares serves only to uproot and damage the wheat. Better to focus energy on strengthening the wheat's root structure so that it withstands the onslaught of tares, becomes beautiful for all to observe and ultimately is prepared for when it can be sorted from the tares at the next stage of its life.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Overbooked
The merry old month of May is all that and more. Spring has unleashed the full range of beauties, activities and scheduling conflicts. My oh my what a marvelously crazy calendar we have this month. Schools, youth sports, spring concerts, outdoor activities and the chance to release (at last) all of that pent up Winter energy, all conspire to dot the calendar with too many good things to do and not enough, time, brains or organizational skills to do it all.
And every year we repeat the cycle it seems. Wash, rinse, repeat. Run faster, run even faster yet, repeat. If Harry Potter's method of being in two places at once were real and could be bottled and sold someone would make a pretty penny in May. But since it isn't real and we really can only attend to one thing at a time, I do wonder why we insist on overloading and overbooking.
Phooey...time to get onto the next task. :)
And every year we repeat the cycle it seems. Wash, rinse, repeat. Run faster, run even faster yet, repeat. If Harry Potter's method of being in two places at once were real and could be bottled and sold someone would make a pretty penny in May. But since it isn't real and we really can only attend to one thing at a time, I do wonder why we insist on overloading and overbooking.
Phooey...time to get onto the next task. :)
Friday, May 1, 2009
Concert time
Last night we listened to the 6th grade band concert. Its a fun and energetic bunch of kids that are completing their first year of school band here in our school system. Which makes the music they produce all the more entertaining. Some of the kids are really very good musicians and some are just really good kids. Their enthusiasm is fun to watch.
Halfway through one of the songs on the program two kids in the percussion session started bobbing up and down in time with the music. After each song one of the boys in the clarinet section would take a swooping bow and then raise his hands above high above his head to acknowledge the applause. At an earlier Christmas (ahem, excuse me- "Winter") program one of the tuba players ran an extension cord onto the stage into which he plugged a string of Christmas lights that decorated his instrument. And last year a little guy with a floppy mop of curly hair was so energetic that he reminded us of the Muppet drum players. He joyously beat out the rhythm on his snare drum, hair flopping up and down and a huge grin on his face. Music just doesn't get any funner than that.
Tonight we get to attend the the Big 9 High School Music Festival in Austin, MN, where all the bands, choruses and orchestras from the nine high schools in the region assemble for a day of music. The finale is a performance by the Select Band (Select Chorus and Select Orchestra) which is essentially an all-star high school band. In years past the music these Select groups produce has been magnificent. And coming this close off the heals of the 6th grade concert, it will once again be a reminder of just how quickly children grow up. It almost seems overnight that they go from being Muppet-like performers to being the tuxedo-clad high schoolers. And yet, in spite of the noticeable improvement in the quality of their music, the youthful exuberance remains.
I love concert time!
Halfway through one of the songs on the program two kids in the percussion session started bobbing up and down in time with the music. After each song one of the boys in the clarinet section would take a swooping bow and then raise his hands above high above his head to acknowledge the applause. At an earlier Christmas (ahem, excuse me- "Winter") program one of the tuba players ran an extension cord onto the stage into which he plugged a string of Christmas lights that decorated his instrument. And last year a little guy with a floppy mop of curly hair was so energetic that he reminded us of the Muppet drum players. He joyously beat out the rhythm on his snare drum, hair flopping up and down and a huge grin on his face. Music just doesn't get any funner than that.
Tonight we get to attend the the Big 9 High School Music Festival in Austin, MN, where all the bands, choruses and orchestras from the nine high schools in the region assemble for a day of music. The finale is a performance by the Select Band (Select Chorus and Select Orchestra) which is essentially an all-star high school band. In years past the music these Select groups produce has been magnificent. And coming this close off the heals of the 6th grade concert, it will once again be a reminder of just how quickly children grow up. It almost seems overnight that they go from being Muppet-like performers to being the tuxedo-clad high schoolers. And yet, in spite of the noticeable improvement in the quality of their music, the youthful exuberance remains.
I love concert time!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Stress tests
Some pleonastic phrases are part of a language's idiom, like "safe haven" and "tuna fish" in English. They are so common that their use is unremarkable, although in many cases the redundancy can be dropped with no loss of meaning. Often, pleonasm is understood to mean a word or phrase which is useless, clichéd, or repetitive, but a pleonasm can also be simply an unremarkable use of idiom. It can even aid in achieving a specific linguistic effect, be it social, poetic, or literary. In particular, pleonasm sometimes serves the same function as rhetorical repetition — it can be used to reinforce an idea, contention or question, rendering writing clearer and easier to understand. Further, pleonasm can serve as a redundancy check by computer scientists to insure smooth transmission of data across a business network. And if a word is unknown, misunderstood, or misheard, or the medium of communication is poor — a wireless telephone connection or sloppy handwriting — pleonastic phrases can help ensure that the entire meaning gets across even if some of the words get lost.
So, why the foray into lingo-land? A couple of reasons, actually. First, I've recently finished reading an interesting book about teaching children faith, written by Arthur Henry King- an expert in language-detail research and teaching. Second, I've been pondering the meaning of the phrase "stress test". I'm not sure whether the phrase fully qualifies as a pleonasm but it certainly seems to contain two words which are at the same time useless, cliched and repetitive. And the phrase is used so frequently that it definitely can be considered common. And yet, underlying its use is a fertile ground of meaning. Images of tension, suffering, pressure and apprehension come to mind. Life, it seems, is basically a series or sequence of stress tests.
Some tests provide more stress than others, but all- by their very nature it seems- cause us to pause and consider how well prepared we are for their results. And pretty much every test does generate a result. When we say that we've failed a test or that the results of the test were abnormal then the stress seems to escalate. So perhaps the phrase should have the word "test" before the word "stress" since the former leads to the latter. But few people would have any idea what you were saying if you said you were about to take a "test stress". In fact, the simple reversal of the order actually seems to lessen the stress felt since it is the stress that's now being being tested (rather then the one who is taking the test feeling stressed).
Gratefully, when one passes a test or the results end up being normal then stress is usually relieved. If only we could tell going into a stress test that our stress would soon be relieved. However, that sort of outcome would require a different figure of speech. And some faith. Maybe even the faith like that described by Tennyson when he wrote that "[f]aith unfaithfully kept him falsely true." But that would be oxymoronic.
So, why the foray into lingo-land? A couple of reasons, actually. First, I've recently finished reading an interesting book about teaching children faith, written by Arthur Henry King- an expert in language-detail research and teaching. Second, I've been pondering the meaning of the phrase "stress test". I'm not sure whether the phrase fully qualifies as a pleonasm but it certainly seems to contain two words which are at the same time useless, cliched and repetitive. And the phrase is used so frequently that it definitely can be considered common. And yet, underlying its use is a fertile ground of meaning. Images of tension, suffering, pressure and apprehension come to mind. Life, it seems, is basically a series or sequence of stress tests.
Some tests provide more stress than others, but all- by their very nature it seems- cause us to pause and consider how well prepared we are for their results. And pretty much every test does generate a result. When we say that we've failed a test or that the results of the test were abnormal then the stress seems to escalate. So perhaps the phrase should have the word "test" before the word "stress" since the former leads to the latter. But few people would have any idea what you were saying if you said you were about to take a "test stress". In fact, the simple reversal of the order actually seems to lessen the stress felt since it is the stress that's now being being tested (rather then the one who is taking the test feeling stressed).
Gratefully, when one passes a test or the results end up being normal then stress is usually relieved. If only we could tell going into a stress test that our stress would soon be relieved. However, that sort of outcome would require a different figure of speech. And some faith. Maybe even the faith like that described by Tennyson when he wrote that "[f]aith unfaithfully kept him falsely true." But that would be oxymoronic.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Overcoming
A beautiful sunny Spring day today. I rode my bike in again and enjoyed being serenaded by birds along the way. Noticed a few more walkers out on the trail as well. But mostly I noticed the inside of my own thoughts this morning. Lots to think about these days. I find myself facing some new challenges that have redirected my thinking.
This morning I was studying some scriptural verses from the book of Revelations in the New Testament that all contain the phrase, "to him that overcometh". The promises that St. John the Divine records for those that overcome are intriguing. They include receiving sustenance ("manna"), access to the fruit of the "tree of life", the ability to translate or interpret ("white stone" aka "Urim and Thummin"), power over the nations, clothing and forgiveness ("white raiment"). Those who overcome are also told they will be come a pillar in the temple, have their name praised by the Lord Jesus Christ to God the Father and be granted a place to sit next to Christ the same as he has been granted a place next to His Father. Interesting symbols to consider this week following Easter. Interesting symbols to consider in a world of economic and moral uncertainty.
The "tree of life" symbol calls out other interesting concepts and words for thought. Not sure what species of tree John had in mind but in a later verse he indicates that the tree he was thinking of "bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations". I suppose much of this would be symbolic of the 12 sons of Israel referred to as the "House of Israel" and its future role as the covenant people. Given all the angst in the Middle East we could sure use a grove of those trees along with healing leaves by the bushel. Elsewhere the fruit of the tree of life is described as "desirable to make one happy".
As the leaves bud out, the grass starts to green and life returns to the prairie, I appreciate these sorts of symbolic promises. They provide good reasons to hang in there and overcome.
This morning I was studying some scriptural verses from the book of Revelations in the New Testament that all contain the phrase, "to him that overcometh". The promises that St. John the Divine records for those that overcome are intriguing. They include receiving sustenance ("manna"), access to the fruit of the "tree of life", the ability to translate or interpret ("white stone" aka "Urim and Thummin"), power over the nations, clothing and forgiveness ("white raiment"). Those who overcome are also told they will be come a pillar in the temple, have their name praised by the Lord Jesus Christ to God the Father and be granted a place to sit next to Christ the same as he has been granted a place next to His Father. Interesting symbols to consider this week following Easter. Interesting symbols to consider in a world of economic and moral uncertainty.
The "tree of life" symbol calls out other interesting concepts and words for thought. Not sure what species of tree John had in mind but in a later verse he indicates that the tree he was thinking of "bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations". I suppose much of this would be symbolic of the 12 sons of Israel referred to as the "House of Israel" and its future role as the covenant people. Given all the angst in the Middle East we could sure use a grove of those trees along with healing leaves by the bushel. Elsewhere the fruit of the tree of life is described as "desirable to make one happy".
As the leaves bud out, the grass starts to green and life returns to the prairie, I appreciate these sorts of symbolic promises. They provide good reasons to hang in there and overcome.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Riding my bike
I rode my bike to work today. It was still a little brisk but the sun was shining and it felt nice to be doing something that is wholesome, energy efficient and fun. In an era of societal uncertainty, its always nice to find something that is uncontroversially good.
Almost anyone can ride a bike if they choose and nobody is going to argue with its merits. It consumes no gasoline, produces no CO2 and is probably as safe an activity as anything in life. No creative financing is required nor does the activity scream of any moral statements or judgment. Amazingly, its also an activity that's fat-free, calorie-burning, energizing and enjoyable. Riding a bike gets your heart and legs pumping, amps up the circulation to your brain and opens up the mind to deeper meditations. And unless you paste a billboard on your back or strap a boombox to your bike frame, you can generally wear whatever you want and ride wherever you want unnoticed and anonomous.
My childhood revolved around the bicycle for several seasons. Between the ages of 5 and 12 I rode my bike everyday and everywhere. It was my vehicle of choice for going anywhere or going nowhere in particular. I remember the thrill when my little brother also learned to ride his bike because then he could join me on my rides. Life was simpler then. The lazy days of summer passed by effortlessly, in large part due to the wide access a bike provided me to the woods, streams, gullies and neighborhoods of my childhood.
So, why my rapture about something as mundane as riding a bicycle? Hard to say, but perhaps it hails back to something I read earlier this week. The author, a university professor and former member of his country's education commission, comments on the importance of children reading and being read to. He also talks about the benefits of repetition. Young minds grow and develop in very particular ways and hearing the same storybook read over and over has been found to be very helpful for a number of reasons. Anyone who has experienced this can testify to the fact that young kids love hearing the same story over and over. Just ask yourself how many times have you read, "Good Night Moon", "Right Foot, Left Foot", "The Hungry Caterpillar" or "Green Eggs and Ham".
It appears that repetition of ordinary tasks such as reading and re-reading a storybook enables both learning and positive value development. For it is during the repetition that one is able to enjoy deep thoughts and find treasures of knowledge in the midst of the mundane. Contrast this with what happens to kids that are forever reading new books, watching TV or playing the newest of the never ending supply of video or computer games or movies. Kids that get caught up in the pattern of seeking the latest, greatest and newest of everything often find themselves on a never ending treadmill. Their minds and lives are never satisfied with the ordinary. These kids then grow up and become adults who are accustomed to always having something new and exciting before their eyes. And in the process the inquisitive spirit is deadened as the ability to fail to take notice of the joys that come from life's common events fades.
Gone are the times of a lazy afternoon throwing the ball with Dad, camping out in the backyard, riding bikes with the neighbor kids or building forts with scrap lumber. None of these hold the same superficial appeal as the latest Gameboy or iPod or Facebook gadget. And yet, how often can you stop and smell the newly emerging crocuses or listen to the sound of recently returned robins while playing Nintendo?
I did both on my bike ride to work this morning.
Almost anyone can ride a bike if they choose and nobody is going to argue with its merits. It consumes no gasoline, produces no CO2 and is probably as safe an activity as anything in life. No creative financing is required nor does the activity scream of any moral statements or judgment. Amazingly, its also an activity that's fat-free, calorie-burning, energizing and enjoyable. Riding a bike gets your heart and legs pumping, amps up the circulation to your brain and opens up the mind to deeper meditations. And unless you paste a billboard on your back or strap a boombox to your bike frame, you can generally wear whatever you want and ride wherever you want unnoticed and anonomous.
My childhood revolved around the bicycle for several seasons. Between the ages of 5 and 12 I rode my bike everyday and everywhere. It was my vehicle of choice for going anywhere or going nowhere in particular. I remember the thrill when my little brother also learned to ride his bike because then he could join me on my rides. Life was simpler then. The lazy days of summer passed by effortlessly, in large part due to the wide access a bike provided me to the woods, streams, gullies and neighborhoods of my childhood.
So, why my rapture about something as mundane as riding a bicycle? Hard to say, but perhaps it hails back to something I read earlier this week. The author, a university professor and former member of his country's education commission, comments on the importance of children reading and being read to. He also talks about the benefits of repetition. Young minds grow and develop in very particular ways and hearing the same storybook read over and over has been found to be very helpful for a number of reasons. Anyone who has experienced this can testify to the fact that young kids love hearing the same story over and over. Just ask yourself how many times have you read, "Good Night Moon", "Right Foot, Left Foot", "The Hungry Caterpillar" or "Green Eggs and Ham".
It appears that repetition of ordinary tasks such as reading and re-reading a storybook enables both learning and positive value development. For it is during the repetition that one is able to enjoy deep thoughts and find treasures of knowledge in the midst of the mundane. Contrast this with what happens to kids that are forever reading new books, watching TV or playing the newest of the never ending supply of video or computer games or movies. Kids that get caught up in the pattern of seeking the latest, greatest and newest of everything often find themselves on a never ending treadmill. Their minds and lives are never satisfied with the ordinary. These kids then grow up and become adults who are accustomed to always having something new and exciting before their eyes. And in the process the inquisitive spirit is deadened as the ability to fail to take notice of the joys that come from life's common events fades.
Gone are the times of a lazy afternoon throwing the ball with Dad, camping out in the backyard, riding bikes with the neighbor kids or building forts with scrap lumber. None of these hold the same superficial appeal as the latest Gameboy or iPod or Facebook gadget. And yet, how often can you stop and smell the newly emerging crocuses or listen to the sound of recently returned robins while playing Nintendo?
I did both on my bike ride to work this morning.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Potholes and Ruts
Its pothole season here in Minnesota. As Spring reluctantly comes to the north land the roads become the battle ground of warm weather and cold. Warming during the day followed by freezing at night causes fissures and cracks in road surfaces. These in turn cause holes which grow up to become full-fledged potholes. The seemingly-endless freeze-thaw cycle endemic to our weather, in combination with the snow-melting salt we use to make our streets passable each winter, breaks apart pavement. Often, deep craters are formed- some rival those on the surface of the moon for size!
A rut on the other hand is a depression or groove worn into a road or path by the travel of wheels or skis or by erosion from flowing water. In cold climate areas, such as Minnesota, studded or chained tires can cause significant road surface wear in terms of rutting. Ruts can be removed by grading a road surface. A vehicle with wheels or skis, travelling on a rutted road, if its wheels or skis enter an existing rut will have difficulty steering out of the rut. If it proves impossible to steer out of a rut, though forward and backward progress can be made by the vehicle, it is referred to as being "stuck in the rut". The term "stuck in a rut" can be used figuratively to refer to a situation in which, as time progresses, the situation is unable to be changed or steered in a desired way.
So, generally speaking potholes and ruts are things to be avoided. Sure they might serve as landmarks or to help us find our way to a particular destination, but more often than not they impede our progress. And yet, choosing avoidance as our life's strategy seems to be incomplete. Choosing a lifestyle that merely dodges the inconveniences placed in our way by others is certainly safe, prudent, and appropriate much of the time, but its also kind of boring and reactionary. Telling ourselves that we've successfully avoided all negative ruts and potholes is much like saying we avoided eating too much sugar. Yes, it's probably a good thing not to eat too many Snickers candy bars but that practice alone says very little about what healthy, invigorating or pleasurable food we sought out and actively chose to eat.
Saying that we've successfully avoided the potholes and ruts created by others says nothing about whether we played any role in either creating or removing potholes or ruts. Sure we've missed hitting the bad things that lie in our path- that's good. But if all we're doing is trying to steer clear of the bad things that may come our way it seems we might be missing out. There seems to be so much more to living- finding, seeking, learning, chancing, experimenting, yearning, creating, and yes, even risking. All proactive, all aimed at moving well beyond known boundaries. All with the potential of finding new roads and paths to travel...and then pointing the way for others to experience that which is unique, new, novel and delicious.
So while it's a good thing to be safe and avoid crater-like potholes and deep, ornery ruts which prevent us from going where we want to go, perhaps these should be done in balance with other more overt acts of choice. As the church hymn asks, "Have I done any good in the world today, have I helped anyone in need? Have I cheered up the sad and made someone feel glad? If not, I have failed indeed." A nice way of saying its good not to get stuck in a rut.
A rut on the other hand is a depression or groove worn into a road or path by the travel of wheels or skis or by erosion from flowing water. In cold climate areas, such as Minnesota, studded or chained tires can cause significant road surface wear in terms of rutting. Ruts can be removed by grading a road surface. A vehicle with wheels or skis, travelling on a rutted road, if its wheels or skis enter an existing rut will have difficulty steering out of the rut. If it proves impossible to steer out of a rut, though forward and backward progress can be made by the vehicle, it is referred to as being "stuck in the rut". The term "stuck in a rut" can be used figuratively to refer to a situation in which, as time progresses, the situation is unable to be changed or steered in a desired way.
So, generally speaking potholes and ruts are things to be avoided. Sure they might serve as landmarks or to help us find our way to a particular destination, but more often than not they impede our progress. And yet, choosing avoidance as our life's strategy seems to be incomplete. Choosing a lifestyle that merely dodges the inconveniences placed in our way by others is certainly safe, prudent, and appropriate much of the time, but its also kind of boring and reactionary. Telling ourselves that we've successfully avoided all negative ruts and potholes is much like saying we avoided eating too much sugar. Yes, it's probably a good thing not to eat too many Snickers candy bars but that practice alone says very little about what healthy, invigorating or pleasurable food we sought out and actively chose to eat.
Saying that we've successfully avoided the potholes and ruts created by others says nothing about whether we played any role in either creating or removing potholes or ruts. Sure we've missed hitting the bad things that lie in our path- that's good. But if all we're doing is trying to steer clear of the bad things that may come our way it seems we might be missing out. There seems to be so much more to living- finding, seeking, learning, chancing, experimenting, yearning, creating, and yes, even risking. All proactive, all aimed at moving well beyond known boundaries. All with the potential of finding new roads and paths to travel...and then pointing the way for others to experience that which is unique, new, novel and delicious.
So while it's a good thing to be safe and avoid crater-like potholes and deep, ornery ruts which prevent us from going where we want to go, perhaps these should be done in balance with other more overt acts of choice. As the church hymn asks, "Have I done any good in the world today, have I helped anyone in need? Have I cheered up the sad and made someone feel glad? If not, I have failed indeed." A nice way of saying its good not to get stuck in a rut.
Monday, March 23, 2009
That's just what we do
Having fur bearing creatures live with us in our houses is odd. I mean think about it for a minute. In the wild these animals would have to live in the woods and prairies roaming in search of food and shelter with nary a human to brush their fur, trim their claws or fluff their doggy bed at night. Animals require daily maintenance and gravitate to all things smelly. They occasionally exercise and engage in productive play with us but most of the time we wonder what they're chewing, scratching or clawing at the moment. Their modus operandi seems to be to do anything they want whenever they want (as long as they can get away with it).
These lazy freeloaders basically get all they need without doing any work or paying any rent. We willingly fork over money to cover room and board, puppy school, hair care equipment and chew toys. We block our schedules so we can take them out on regular walks to find stinky stuff to roll in and to locate just the right place to take a dump. Our pets get all the fresh water and pet chow they need (plus all the bonus table scraps they can scrounge), all the ear scratchings they can beg, and access to anything else we might offer that amuses or intrigues them. Most also get fully paid medical and dental coverage and some even get advanced training budgets. We provide them fully paid vacations to our pet loving neighbors or the K-9 hotel. And then to top it off we even give these critters Christmas presents!! All of this can add up to some serious dough. Boy, are we a bunch of suckers or what!?
So I'm wondering if as a race we humans have totally lost our sanity. Perhaps. And yet maybe the humanity we can gain from allowing these animals into our lives justifies the madness.
Today's rain storm reminds me of a similarly rainy spring day several years ago. Our pet hamster "Fluffy" had just passed on. Me and a couple of heartbroken youngsters decided to hold a small funeral ceremony before we buried him in his little tissue-lined shoebox coffin. There we were huddled together under umbrellas out on the edge of a field near our home. I remember pondering the occasion and wondering just exactly what do you say at a hamster's graveside service. The memory still brings a smile to my face. I'd like to think that I handled the occasion with just the right amount of religious ceremony. Reflecting back I think the reason for doing anything at all was to help my children come away with an appropriate amount of reverence for another of God's precious creations. Reverence is a hard thing to teach so you have to seize moments like that whenever you can when feelings are tender and little minds are open. And for selfish reasons I suppose, I also wanted my kids to come away with the feeling that their pet had been treated fairly by dear old Dad.
Maybe that ceremony on the edge of the rain soaked field helps explain why we allow these freeloading critters to live with us in the first place. That's just what we do.
These lazy freeloaders basically get all they need without doing any work or paying any rent. We willingly fork over money to cover room and board, puppy school, hair care equipment and chew toys. We block our schedules so we can take them out on regular walks to find stinky stuff to roll in and to locate just the right place to take a dump. Our pets get all the fresh water and pet chow they need (plus all the bonus table scraps they can scrounge), all the ear scratchings they can beg, and access to anything else we might offer that amuses or intrigues them. Most also get fully paid medical and dental coverage and some even get advanced training budgets. We provide them fully paid vacations to our pet loving neighbors or the K-9 hotel. And then to top it off we even give these critters Christmas presents!! All of this can add up to some serious dough. Boy, are we a bunch of suckers or what!?
So I'm wondering if as a race we humans have totally lost our sanity. Perhaps. And yet maybe the humanity we can gain from allowing these animals into our lives justifies the madness.
Today's rain storm reminds me of a similarly rainy spring day several years ago. Our pet hamster "Fluffy" had just passed on. Me and a couple of heartbroken youngsters decided to hold a small funeral ceremony before we buried him in his little tissue-lined shoebox coffin. There we were huddled together under umbrellas out on the edge of a field near our home. I remember pondering the occasion and wondering just exactly what do you say at a hamster's graveside service. The memory still brings a smile to my face. I'd like to think that I handled the occasion with just the right amount of religious ceremony. Reflecting back I think the reason for doing anything at all was to help my children come away with an appropriate amount of reverence for another of God's precious creations. Reverence is a hard thing to teach so you have to seize moments like that whenever you can when feelings are tender and little minds are open. And for selfish reasons I suppose, I also wanted my kids to come away with the feeling that their pet had been treated fairly by dear old Dad.
Maybe that ceremony on the edge of the rain soaked field helps explain why we allow these freeloading critters to live with us in the first place. That's just what we do.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
"Half-witted"
I called my lovely wife earlier today. She picked up the phone laughing hilariously. Which is always a wonderful thing to hear. I love it when she laughs. There is nothing I enjoy more. And there's nothing better than a genuine patch of laughter to brighten up your day, even if it was already a good day. Genuine, heart-felt, belly aching laughter is good for the soul.
In the midst of this patch of laughter an explanation emerged which served only to keep the laughter going for a few more minutes. Seems that my wife was multi-tasking at the time the phone rang. She was directing brain cells to lunch preparation, a project on the computer and two or three other things simultaneously. Which is pretty much the story of life in 2009. Multitasking is what most of us do most every day. We regularly dedicate some portion of our brain to each of several projects coming at us in what feels like an insatiable flow of tasks and distractions. Occasionally, however, the river overruns its banks and we find ourselves making humorous little syntax or sequencing errors. In her instance she had said "Hello" before actually picking up the phone. Four year old Molly gave her a puzzled look which in turn gave my wife the giggles which led to the full-bodied laughter I encountered when she realized the humor of it all.
This isn't the first time I've seen this kind of humorous occurrence caused by multi-tasking. I've found keys in the fridge and apples on the dresser and things in my sock drawer that have no good reason for being there. A couple of my kids will on occasion get going so fast that they'll mix up words in a sentence or letters within a word...often with humorous results. All of this is due to the same issue of overloading the river bank.
I suppose that unless somebody is addressing the nation or piloting a commercial jet this kind of stuff is probably harmless. It does make me wonder, though- is overloading ourselves to the point that we can't even perform a routine task with scrambling it up a good thing? A person of around half the average intelligence of his or her peers is known as a "half-wit". And it isn't usually an endearing term spoken with respect and esteem. But maybe, its not such a bad thing after all since using half your brain for something is pretty good. And being called a "half-wit" is a lot better then being called a "quarter-wit". So, I think I will consider it a compliment the next time someone calls me "half-witted".
In the midst of this patch of laughter an explanation emerged which served only to keep the laughter going for a few more minutes. Seems that my wife was multi-tasking at the time the phone rang. She was directing brain cells to lunch preparation, a project on the computer and two or three other things simultaneously. Which is pretty much the story of life in 2009. Multitasking is what most of us do most every day. We regularly dedicate some portion of our brain to each of several projects coming at us in what feels like an insatiable flow of tasks and distractions. Occasionally, however, the river overruns its banks and we find ourselves making humorous little syntax or sequencing errors. In her instance she had said "Hello" before actually picking up the phone. Four year old Molly gave her a puzzled look which in turn gave my wife the giggles which led to the full-bodied laughter I encountered when she realized the humor of it all.
This isn't the first time I've seen this kind of humorous occurrence caused by multi-tasking. I've found keys in the fridge and apples on the dresser and things in my sock drawer that have no good reason for being there. A couple of my kids will on occasion get going so fast that they'll mix up words in a sentence or letters within a word...often with humorous results. All of this is due to the same issue of overloading the river bank.
I suppose that unless somebody is addressing the nation or piloting a commercial jet this kind of stuff is probably harmless. It does make me wonder, though- is overloading ourselves to the point that we can't even perform a routine task with scrambling it up a good thing? A person of around half the average intelligence of his or her peers is known as a "half-wit". And it isn't usually an endearing term spoken with respect and esteem. But maybe, its not such a bad thing after all since using half your brain for something is pretty good. And being called a "half-wit" is a lot better then being called a "quarter-wit". So, I think I will consider it a compliment the next time someone calls me "half-witted".
Monday, March 16, 2009
"I hope they call me on a mission"
With a son awaiting his call to serve a full time mission, I've found myself reminiscing a bit. It really doesn't seem that long ago when I was the little kid singing the Primary children's song about going on a mission when I had "grown a foot or two".
So just exactly when do we grow that "foot or two" from childhood to adulthood? I realize its pretty easy to look at the growth chart or to track the pencil marks on the wall showing when we grow physically from being 3' something to 5' something. And we can trace back even further to when we were born and our height was measured in inches and described as our "length". Which is sort of a curious thing about our language. I mean really, when was the last time somewhat asked what your length is? It would seem pretty goofy or lame but we do it all the time for newborns. But I digress.
This process of aging and growing intrigues us. We spend a lot of time and resources coming up with new, creative ways to measure growth. Medical scientists are ever seeking better ways of measuring how (and why) biological process occur. Imaging scientists are using software and principles of electron behavior to create images that can then be matched and registered to other images over time in such a way that we can "see" and accurately measure biological growth. That increasing body of knowledge is now peeking into the molecular, sub molecular, genetic and sub-genetic levels of biological growth. As a society we now have tools to better inform us as we ponder deep and fascinating questions about cell regeneration and tissue growth. As we chase away the shadows and pry beneath the rocks within our genetic code new secrets will emerge. And yet, the fundamental questions will persist as to just exactly how and when this thing we call "aging" actually takes place.
With trees we measure height, diameter and count rings to determine biological age. With horses we record height, weight and look at wear patterns on teeth and hooves to determine biological age. With humans there are many physical factors used to determine biological age. Its pretty obvious that the bald, paunchy guy sitting at his computer is older than his children and at some point has "grown a foot or two". But exactly when did it happen? And beyond the whole subject of biological aging is the deeper journey to understanding our actual age.
I remember a number of conversations I had with my own father about growing older. He used to make the comment that he felt that his spirit was basically the same age as it had been since he was a teenager. I remember thinking that was kind of a weird thing for someone to say. Surely he felt older and wiser and more mature. But I wondered about what my dad was saying and whether my experience would be similar as I grew up. And now- 30+ years later, I find it amusing (and a little troubling) that my spirit still feels about as mature (or immature) as it felt when I was talking to Dad about this as a biological 14 year old. Having a middle-aged guy's physique helps disguise an immature spirit most of the time, but there are those moments. Just ask my kids.
So just exactly when do we grow that "foot or two" from childhood to adulthood? I realize its pretty easy to look at the growth chart or to track the pencil marks on the wall showing when we grow physically from being 3' something to 5' something. And we can trace back even further to when we were born and our height was measured in inches and described as our "length". Which is sort of a curious thing about our language. I mean really, when was the last time somewhat asked what your length is? It would seem pretty goofy or lame but we do it all the time for newborns. But I digress.
This process of aging and growing intrigues us. We spend a lot of time and resources coming up with new, creative ways to measure growth. Medical scientists are ever seeking better ways of measuring how (and why) biological process occur. Imaging scientists are using software and principles of electron behavior to create images that can then be matched and registered to other images over time in such a way that we can "see" and accurately measure biological growth. That increasing body of knowledge is now peeking into the molecular, sub molecular, genetic and sub-genetic levels of biological growth. As a society we now have tools to better inform us as we ponder deep and fascinating questions about cell regeneration and tissue growth. As we chase away the shadows and pry beneath the rocks within our genetic code new secrets will emerge. And yet, the fundamental questions will persist as to just exactly how and when this thing we call "aging" actually takes place.
With trees we measure height, diameter and count rings to determine biological age. With horses we record height, weight and look at wear patterns on teeth and hooves to determine biological age. With humans there are many physical factors used to determine biological age. Its pretty obvious that the bald, paunchy guy sitting at his computer is older than his children and at some point has "grown a foot or two". But exactly when did it happen? And beyond the whole subject of biological aging is the deeper journey to understanding our actual age.
I remember a number of conversations I had with my own father about growing older. He used to make the comment that he felt that his spirit was basically the same age as it had been since he was a teenager. I remember thinking that was kind of a weird thing for someone to say. Surely he felt older and wiser and more mature. But I wondered about what my dad was saying and whether my experience would be similar as I grew up. And now- 30+ years later, I find it amusing (and a little troubling) that my spirit still feels about as mature (or immature) as it felt when I was talking to Dad about this as a biological 14 year old. Having a middle-aged guy's physique helps disguise an immature spirit most of the time, but there are those moments. Just ask my kids.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
"Smile and Wave, Boys"
I really like animated movies. Probably a good thing since I've spent the last 20 years watching Disney movies with my kids. But now its to the point where, given the choice, I'm the one that votes for watching "Shrek" or "Madagascar" or "The Incredibles" yet again. Maybe its because I've grown weary of all the garbage that Hollywood stirs into most new releases. Or perhaps its just proof that animated movies were really made for parents like me in the first place. In any event, my favorites are the ones with fun plots, classic characters and memorable lines. One of my favorite lines comes from the penguins in Disney's Madagascar. What better way to avoid confrontation (or to avoid detection) than to simply "smile and wave".
Just yesterday I found yet another novel application of the "smile and wave" philosophy of living. I was leaving one of the covered downtown parking ramps. It was the middle of the day but it was still kind of dark. I was going slow as I was leaving but was absentmindedly thinking about other things. Before I knew it I had eased out right in front of someone else coming across the lot. Neither of us were going very fast so we were both able to stop in plenty of time to avoid a wreck. The other driver was gracious, she simply smiled and waved while I stopped and backed up out of her way. Her passenger wasn't so gracious, however. She lurched back in her seat, all the while gesticulating and shouting what appeared to be some pretty unflattering things about me, my genealogy and my driving skills. I could practically see the smoke huffing and puffing out of her chimney stack.
So there in the darkness of a parking ramp I witnessed "smile and wave" side by side with her ugly stepsister "shout and cuss". I am proud to report that my first reaction was to "smile and wave". I've come a long way since I put a clinched fist through my bedroom window as a 4 year old. There's still room to improve though... maybe watching Madagascar a few dozen more times will help.
Just yesterday I found yet another novel application of the "smile and wave" philosophy of living. I was leaving one of the covered downtown parking ramps. It was the middle of the day but it was still kind of dark. I was going slow as I was leaving but was absentmindedly thinking about other things. Before I knew it I had eased out right in front of someone else coming across the lot. Neither of us were going very fast so we were both able to stop in plenty of time to avoid a wreck. The other driver was gracious, she simply smiled and waved while I stopped and backed up out of her way. Her passenger wasn't so gracious, however. She lurched back in her seat, all the while gesticulating and shouting what appeared to be some pretty unflattering things about me, my genealogy and my driving skills. I could practically see the smoke huffing and puffing out of her chimney stack.
So there in the darkness of a parking ramp I witnessed "smile and wave" side by side with her ugly stepsister "shout and cuss". I am proud to report that my first reaction was to "smile and wave". I've come a long way since I put a clinched fist through my bedroom window as a 4 year old. There's still room to improve though... maybe watching Madagascar a few dozen more times will help.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Footprints in the Snow
After this morning's rush to get kids off to school, I paused to take a deep breath and gaze out the back window. While gazing absentmindedly at the deck I noticed one of those priceless, "picture ready" scenes. After rummaging around for a few minutes, I was able to find a camera and capture a digital image of it.
The scene was really a pretty simple one, but one worth noting nonetheless. It certainly isn't a photo that will ever grace the cover of Life magazine or show up in National Geographic next to images of the Serengeti. But, it was a scene that in a Norman Rockwellian manner captures a little of the essence of living while speaking to our routine interaction with the world we live in.
It was a gray scene with fog shrouding the cold winter morning landscape. Winter usually departs the north country very reluctantly and this year is no exception. Last week the temperatures did get tantalizingly warm, but yesterday's snow reminded us that Spring is still a ways off yet. As my thoughts drifted in no particular direction my gaze passed from the fog and the trees to the mostly uninterrupted layer of snow on the ground. There in the gray a few intrepid birds ventured forth to dine at the bird feeders hung from shepherds hooks mounted on our deck rail. My eyes followed a couple as they flitted between tree branches, railing and feeders. But it wasn't the birds or the gray or the fog that really captured my attention.
There in the fresh snow below were the barefoot tracks of perhaps the most wondrous of all of God's creatures- my children. Some were big, some were small. Some followed straight lines while others weaved and bobbed. One set preserved the confident swagger of a teenage boy while others captured the lilting skips, leaps and pirouettes of dancing daughters. Mixed into this merry human dance were the puzzled paw prints of the family mutt and kitty cat. The random patterns and unplanned directions spoke of the unbridled enjoyment of a an early Spring snow storm.
It seems that life often comes at us in cold, unappreciated waves. It blankets us with messy moisture that slows our pace and alters our plans for sunshine. And yet- if we're willing, we can view each successive storm as yet another invitation to join in the dance. Come what may, ours is the choice to cower inside or kick off our shoes and enjoy!
The scene was really a pretty simple one, but one worth noting nonetheless. It certainly isn't a photo that will ever grace the cover of Life magazine or show up in National Geographic next to images of the Serengeti. But, it was a scene that in a Norman Rockwellian manner captures a little of the essence of living while speaking to our routine interaction with the world we live in.
It was a gray scene with fog shrouding the cold winter morning landscape. Winter usually departs the north country very reluctantly and this year is no exception. Last week the temperatures did get tantalizingly warm, but yesterday's snow reminded us that Spring is still a ways off yet. As my thoughts drifted in no particular direction my gaze passed from the fog and the trees to the mostly uninterrupted layer of snow on the ground. There in the gray a few intrepid birds ventured forth to dine at the bird feeders hung from shepherds hooks mounted on our deck rail. My eyes followed a couple as they flitted between tree branches, railing and feeders. But it wasn't the birds or the gray or the fog that really captured my attention.
There in the fresh snow below were the barefoot tracks of perhaps the most wondrous of all of God's creatures- my children. Some were big, some were small. Some followed straight lines while others weaved and bobbed. One set preserved the confident swagger of a teenage boy while others captured the lilting skips, leaps and pirouettes of dancing daughters. Mixed into this merry human dance were the puzzled paw prints of the family mutt and kitty cat. The random patterns and unplanned directions spoke of the unbridled enjoyment of a an early Spring snow storm.
It seems that life often comes at us in cold, unappreciated waves. It blankets us with messy moisture that slows our pace and alters our plans for sunshine. And yet- if we're willing, we can view each successive storm as yet another invitation to join in the dance. Come what may, ours is the choice to cower inside or kick off our shoes and enjoy!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Boldness
Life regularly presents opportunities to speak up and say what you think ought to be said. Sometimes its a simple and natural thing to do. Its trickier at others though. Especially if the message, though needed, isn't really something someone wants to hear. Being brutally honest can have positive consequences but only if all the right factors line up for the communication.
Scriptural text captures the ponderings of others facing the question of speaking with boldness. In the Book of Mormon the prophet Nephi wrote approvingly of bold speech by men "inspired of heaven". Alma advised others to "use boldness, but not overbearance". In the Bible it is reported that Peter was effective speaking his mind because he was "filled with the Holy Ghost". And the apostle Paul counsels mixing boldness with "meekness and gentleness of Christ". An underlying theme is that those who genuinely love or care for others seem to do better when it comes to boldness.
All of this makes good sense, plus it resonates with what we've all known since we were kids. After all, even Mary Poppins knew that "a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down".
Scriptural text captures the ponderings of others facing the question of speaking with boldness. In the Book of Mormon the prophet Nephi wrote approvingly of bold speech by men "inspired of heaven". Alma advised others to "use boldness, but not overbearance". In the Bible it is reported that Peter was effective speaking his mind because he was "filled with the Holy Ghost". And the apostle Paul counsels mixing boldness with "meekness and gentleness of Christ". An underlying theme is that those who genuinely love or care for others seem to do better when it comes to boldness.
All of this makes good sense, plus it resonates with what we've all known since we were kids. After all, even Mary Poppins knew that "a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down".
Friday, February 27, 2009
Walking with the Wind
Late most every evening I take our dog out for a walk. The official reason is so the dog can take care of her "business", but as with many of life's patterns the walk has had other unintended benefits for me. And no, its not a time for me to take care of my "business" in the same sense as the dog. But it is a time to sort through the day, contemplate the heavens for a few minutes and end the day with a breath of fresh air.
So, the other night our evening excursion took place during one of those horizontal snow and sleet flurries. Normally I find myself hunkering down and focusing on getting out and back as quickly as possible in lousy weather like that. But, halfway out to the "business" zone it dawned on me that I had been enjoying the gentle (though persistent) pitter-patter of snow and sleet on the back of my coat and hood the entire walk. I was reminded that life is like that sometimes. Occasionally we come upon these little stretches when the wind is at our back, the trail is downhill or we're paddling with the current. Pleasant times all, and wonderful respites from what inevitably follows.
These moments when the wind is at our backs provide us a chance to pause and experience feelings of peace, tranquilty, connectedness and gratitude-for warmth, protection, health, family, and the many positive influences in our lives. And in these moments we can also grow in appreciation that we are blessed with the strength, capacity, insights and patience for what lies ahead. For time passes, tomorrow follows today, and before long it will be time to turn back and face into the shifting wind again.
So, the other night our evening excursion took place during one of those horizontal snow and sleet flurries. Normally I find myself hunkering down and focusing on getting out and back as quickly as possible in lousy weather like that. But, halfway out to the "business" zone it dawned on me that I had been enjoying the gentle (though persistent) pitter-patter of snow and sleet on the back of my coat and hood the entire walk. I was reminded that life is like that sometimes. Occasionally we come upon these little stretches when the wind is at our back, the trail is downhill or we're paddling with the current. Pleasant times all, and wonderful respites from what inevitably follows.
These moments when the wind is at our backs provide us a chance to pause and experience feelings of peace, tranquilty, connectedness and gratitude-for warmth, protection, health, family, and the many positive influences in our lives. And in these moments we can also grow in appreciation that we are blessed with the strength, capacity, insights and patience for what lies ahead. For time passes, tomorrow follows today, and before long it will be time to turn back and face into the shifting wind again.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Snow Days
So, the phone rings this morning at 5:30am. Since the phone is located on the night stand on my wife's side of the bed I nudge her to "pick up the phone". Always an amusing thing to watch because it takes my lovely wife a minute or two to figure out which planet she's on after waking up. Next thing I know she's climbing over me to turn off the alarm clock (which is quietly minding its own business on my side of the bed). I gently redirect her to the still ringing phone on her side and she picks it up. No early morning seminary today is the message, huh? I walk to the window expecting to see either a howling blizzard or an ice coated wonderland, but all I see is an uneventful winter morning. The roads are clear and there's nary a cloud in the sky.
I wander downstairs to deliver the message to my teenage son that seminary is cancelled. He groans because he's already up and showered and then asks me the same question I'm still asking myself- "why"? Neither of us know but oh well, he was up already and needed to go early for Jazz band anyway so he'll stay up and do a little extra reading. 20 minutes later teenage daughter flies into the kitchen announcing that school's been cancelled for the day. She too is wondering why because she has already showered and dressed for the day.
And while this explains why seminary was cancelled, it still leaves unanswered the question of "why" anything is being cancelled. I mean really, its a manageable 28 degrees, nearly clear skies and completely driveable road conditions.
This isn't the first time school has been cancelled on a morning when there was no adverse weather going on. Seems our local school district has a fixation with predictive cancellations. Some people actually think there's a chance the weatherman will be right when he says "there's a huge storm barrelling down on us later on this morning". Don't mind bothering with the inconvenient truth that weathermen are only right 50% of the time and then only about 50% of what they predicted actually happens. So, for example, if a weatherman predicts freezing ice followed by snow starting at 11AM today, what that actually means is that it might not freeze at all, it might not snow at all, or all of the above might happen- tomorrow.
Just how this "predictive cancellation" wave got started in our district is a complete mystery to me. Sure I understand the need to keep country kids safe on their bus ride in from the boonies around town. Sure I understand that weather is a fickle creature and forecasts are more like "technology backed guesses". But come on people- being overly cautious is contagious and leads to a generation of people that are afraid of life's risks. And what sort of educational message are we sending here? That "the going might get rough today so we're all staying home (just in case)?" Yikes.
P.S. Well, its now several hours later and I have to partially concede that the weatherman guessed right this time. Yes, it did start snowing hard at around 12:30pm and now at 2:30pm the roads are getting pretty slick. However, this morning the storm was predicted to start as early as 10am and was to start with freezing rain. Like I said- 50% of the time weathermen are 50% right. Oh, and I still think its a good idea to check the driving conditions yourself and then decide if its safe to drive.
I wander downstairs to deliver the message to my teenage son that seminary is cancelled. He groans because he's already up and showered and then asks me the same question I'm still asking myself- "why"? Neither of us know but oh well, he was up already and needed to go early for Jazz band anyway so he'll stay up and do a little extra reading. 20 minutes later teenage daughter flies into the kitchen announcing that school's been cancelled for the day. She too is wondering why because she has already showered and dressed for the day.
And while this explains why seminary was cancelled, it still leaves unanswered the question of "why" anything is being cancelled. I mean really, its a manageable 28 degrees, nearly clear skies and completely driveable road conditions.
This isn't the first time school has been cancelled on a morning when there was no adverse weather going on. Seems our local school district has a fixation with predictive cancellations. Some people actually think there's a chance the weatherman will be right when he says "there's a huge storm barrelling down on us later on this morning". Don't mind bothering with the inconvenient truth that weathermen are only right 50% of the time and then only about 50% of what they predicted actually happens. So, for example, if a weatherman predicts freezing ice followed by snow starting at 11AM today, what that actually means is that it might not freeze at all, it might not snow at all, or all of the above might happen- tomorrow.
Just how this "predictive cancellation" wave got started in our district is a complete mystery to me. Sure I understand the need to keep country kids safe on their bus ride in from the boonies around town. Sure I understand that weather is a fickle creature and forecasts are more like "technology backed guesses". But come on people- being overly cautious is contagious and leads to a generation of people that are afraid of life's risks. And what sort of educational message are we sending here? That "the going might get rough today so we're all staying home (just in case)?" Yikes.
P.S. Well, its now several hours later and I have to partially concede that the weatherman guessed right this time. Yes, it did start snowing hard at around 12:30pm and now at 2:30pm the roads are getting pretty slick. However, this morning the storm was predicted to start as early as 10am and was to start with freezing rain. Like I said- 50% of the time weathermen are 50% right. Oh, and I still think its a good idea to check the driving conditions yourself and then decide if its safe to drive.
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