Not Reserved for a Thursday in November

We take for granted all that we have,

all the blessings bequeathed to us,

fortunes placed at our feet.

We wake up in our beds,

each day secure in our homes,

with smiling family and friends to greet.

Material things aside,

love is what matters most,

in this life that can be so fleet.

Think of those who have much less,

alone, insecure, tossed out,

discarded like things obsolete.

Give thanks for your luck,

every morning and night,

for all that makes your life complete.

11-28-19

Carpe Every Other Diem

Tomorrow is another day, until it's not.

That sounds like something the late, great wordsmith Yogi Berra may have said. At first, it sounds ridiculous, idiotic even. Yet perhaps, at second glance, it seems as though it may have a deeper meaning, albeit unintentionally so.

There's a fine line between genius and hogwash, it would seem.

Whether brilliant or simpleminded 'tis a reminder to make the most of right now because later ain't guaranteed. Don't look back with regrets, right? But here's the rub-a-dub-dub, this life we live is chock full of big responsibilities. There's just so much to do, so many requirements and demands on our time. I mean, it's a lot. Like, so, so much! How can one even start to live life like you're dying? (Um, duh, by the way!)

It is enough to make one feel a bit overwhelmed. For instance, how would one really, like actually, go about wringing the most from every day? Just thinking about it makes me fancy a nap. There are certain expectations. Bars are set high. There's too much pressure. And if one were to, say, not make the most of a single day or maybe a bunch of 'em, what then?

Guilt.

Ravaging and raging guilt, because what excuse is there? None. The message to get cracking is clear and constant! No rest for the weary or wicked or whiny or whatever! Live fast, die stupid, and leave people with questions at your wake. At least make your mark on the sky like some gassy frat boy who crop-dusts a birthday party at Applebee's. Paint the town red or at least mauve. Sleep when you're dead!

No thanks. It's exhausting. Furthermore, this is not a plan for lasting health.

Believe me, no one has bigger dreams than I do. I've heard whispers, (in my head), that I have grand delusions. That is truish enough. You could say I have squad car goals. (Is that the right phrase?) I am looking to use up every iota of every minute of every day. But then, of course, there are times when I just want to sit. Rest awhile on my laurels or lack thereof. You know, sort of write an I.O.U. to myself for living my best life at a more convenient time. I admit, it is a kind of a Hedbergian approach to milking life for all it's worth.

In all seriousness, (as if that's possible), big dreams, aspirations, challenging goals, these are important. It's good to want to make something of yourself. And it is a worthwhile endeavor to avoid wasting days when you can. But maybe the marrow of life is not just about filling our days to the brim. Perhaps it is more rewarding when we just experience the moments.

Maybe the true measure of a life well-lived is how present and connected we are on a regular basis. That trip to Morocco sounds fabulous, but sharing a loving moment with another human being is immeasurable in its importance for our souls. Plus, and maybe more importantly, all this go-go-go stuff is just plain tiring.

That is why I am pleased to announce my new campaign for responsible most-making of our lives. It is based on the notion of alternately seizing of days supplemented by alternate days of like, not. It will be rolled out next month or perhaps the next. I'm not sure exactly. I'm too tired to figure it out right now, plus like, I'm making everything from scratch for Thanksgiving, so I'm super busy.* I'm all about that YOLO** pie crust!

11-22-19

*That is an entirely false statement. I mean, there's stuff I need to binge-watch on Netflix. Then there's the matter of borrowing someone's credentials for Disney+...

**You only live once.

What Are You Going to Do About It?

Kiss your kids. Hug on your family. Hold the ones you love close to your heart. Feel their souls pulsing against yours. It is fleeting.

As a reminder, we are all headed to the same destination. Whatever comes next, there's no point in arguing. No matter which side you come down on, it's still the end of this part of the journey. In other words, all arguing, bickering, grudge-holding, shouting, demeaning, oppressing, or annihilating one another is pointless. Our little battles, our meaningless territorial stakeouts, our vapid victories, and vicious vicissitudes are less than nothing when compared with the very rock beneath our feet.

We are dust mites with mighty egos!

So, be totally present with the love in your life or go find the love that still eludes you. Go toward the good and kind. We cannot control the chaos, but we can muzzle our rapier-like tongues. Let us harness our brawny-dumb muscles. We must holster our rage and face the universe with our highly-evolved, though miserably under-used, intellect.

We are all in this together. Let's act like it.

11-15-19

St. Mark's Blues

To some,

It appears that the water is rising.

Others say,

No,

It is the land that is sinking.

But as the flood inches closer to your door,

Eager to swallow everything you know,

It is,

In reality,

Too late to argue.

11-14-19

To Our Veterans

Thanks doesn't seem to be enough.

Not for you who,

Signed up,

Volunteered,

Willingly put your lives on the line,

Gave all.

Your sense of duty is remarkable.

Your service is beyond compare.

You stand guard,

Night and day,

So that children can play,

So that liberty goes unmolested,

So that freedom rings without restraint.

You who go into battle,

You who make us safe,

You who walk toward danger,

You who,

Without question,

Deserve our unwavering gratitude.

Thank you for what you have done,

For what you do,

For who you are.

As citizens,

It is all we can offer,

Knowing that it doesn't quite,

And will never,

Cover our debt to all of you.

11-11-19

After a Year

This morning, it smelled of smoke outside. Another wildfire? I wondered.

It made me shudder on a day like today. Maybe it's just some olfactory manifestation of memory one year on. Maybe just coincidence. Regardless, the memories came back.

A clear blue sky, cloudless. That's how these stories always begin, right? But it's important, because the immaculate, clean, pure sky is such a contrast for what's to come. It's never good. We look back on those pristine moments longingly, wishing with all we are that it could somehow erase the horror that came later.

It was windy. Bright and sunny. There's that blue sky again, swept clean of lingering fog and agricultural particulate. As I made my way to the office on some errand during my prep time I noticed a strange cloud. It seemed to originate from the very horizon, like a volcanic plume. It was due north and visible right between the main office building and our gymnasium. That's not right, I thought.

The southern California valley where I grew up, surrounded on all sides by rugged hills covered in waving grasses, dense shrubs, and a scattering of oak trees, as it was, created something of a regular tinderbox. These hills became a Hellscape every fall as the fierce Santa Ana winds whipped the flames into the sky, creating panic and apocalyptic scenes. (And still do today.) Now, I was looking at something familiar, but it took me a moment to recognize the frightening sight. My stomach dropped. I asked a colleague nearby what they thought.

"Just a cloud."

"With the wind, though?" I said. "That's no cloud."

All summer fires had been igniting and threatening all around the northern California valley I now called home. Here was another. Easy to dismiss as just a typical part of California life. I asked around, but no one had heard anything. I finished my task and went out to check again. Indeed, the plume was growing, filling the sky with darkness. I tried a quick search on my phone before returning to class and found a mention of something called the Camp Fire, out near Paradise.

"I've been to Paradise" was once something I liked to say in conversation. Back when I was young and adventurous, (read: dumb), I'd gone with friends for a chance to jump off cliffs and, maybe, drink beer in the sun. We meandered our way to a place called Buzzard's Roost. On the way we'd stopped in town for, um, supplies. It dawned on me that it was pretty cool to actually get to visit a place called paradise. I was certain that it was an amazing thing. I was struck by the notion that others should know it actually existed and that you could, like, go there!

Now, years later, it was on fire. There at school, I knew it was bad, but not the full extent. Only later would we all learn that Paradise pretty much burned to the ground. Harrowing tales of survivors fleeing the inferno have been widely reported. Eighty-five people perished and one can only hope their suffering was short in duration. By that afternoon, the smell of smoke was obvious everywhere around my campus more than eighty miles away. The north wind pushed the smoke right down into the valley, draping a suffocating blanket over our part of the world for weeks.

In the end, Paradise burned down and it's not some Joni Mitchell song. It happened. It's hard not to hear that, to see the devastation, to mourn the loss of life, to wonder just how it happened. To wonder, What in the Hell is going on? It is easy to jump to conclusions and think that the sky is falling, especially when last year, it really seemed to do just that. Everything seemed to be burning. Everywhere.

A year later and the town of Paradise is rising up, remembering. Paradise is not lost. It is resilient. But how far toward the brink can we go and still recover? Every tragedy takes a little bit from us all, the cost to replenish our souls a little heavier every time.

It's hard to imagine the amount of strength and determination those who survived must have. They are miracles. It is unfathomable to think of the sorrow and pain the families of those who weren't so lucky must feel. These things are never easy and have long term repercussions. It's also not hard to see the whole thing as a lesson on something a whole lot deeper.

11-8-19

Puzzle

Sleepless.

Coffee for one,

In the dark.

Left to my own devices,

I drift,

Without purpose.

Oh,

My soul's companion,

How I miss you when you're away!

You may be in the next time zone,

Or over by the Bay,

But it may,

Just as well,

Be to the far side of the Earth,

For all the ache I feel.

Like the lovelorn,

On deserted coasts,

Waiting for ship's return,

Or the pioneer,

Writing unanswered letters day after day,

I am less,

And missing my best piece,

Without you here

11-6-19

Travel Writing from Earth

10.31.2019- 23:27h

SETI Array, Hat Creek Observatory, California

INTERCEPTED NEAR-EARTH UNIDENTIFIED SOURCE TRANSMISSION #934,546,721.u.f.o.;

(Translation)

TRANSMISSION BEGINS:

"Global position, 38.5805° N, 121.5302° W

Report Status: Normal

Summary on infiltration and observation of traditional ritualized disguise donning, transit pathway ambulation, followed by randomly selected domicile visitations, and saccharine packet transactions after dark, (which I believe is referred to as "Halloween"), by speaking two-legged animals.

Smallish speaking two-legged animals opt for a variety of disguises with which to portray various versions of other speaking two-legged animals. These disguises may pay tribute to living and deceased speaking two-legged, even four-legged animals or fictionalized versions of speaking and non-speaking animals, especially those imbued with unnatural or extraordinary powers, as well as apparently frightening creatures of imaginary status. (Although, it should be noted that a small percentage of the speaking two-legged disguise wearing populace selects costuming apparel that is surprising in their resemblance to our own large eye/large-headed appearance; resulting from ROSWELL, Earth Year: 1947?)

Tradition also appears to encourage decorative embellishments of participating domiciles in a variety of non-essential bric-a-brac, (I have deduced that this is a fancy Earth word for junk), primarily in shades of orange and black. A supplemental activity of this tradition seems to be focused on various rotund, gourd-like Earth vegetables, which are not ingested, but often given disfigured faces and lit from within by some sort of primitive lighting device or even fire, and then placed on/near domicile entry points.

The tradition seems designed to support community bonding with subtle threats and/or rewards requirement:

e.g. Small, speaking two-legged animals ambulate on transit pathways to multiple domiciles of unfamiliar, non-familial speaking two-legged animals at which juncture there is banging and/or ringing of domicile alert system by smallish speaking two-legged animals to encourage unfamiliar, large speaking two-legged domicile resident animal to emerge and begin interaction. When domicile portal is manually opened the phrase "HAPPY HALLOWEEN" is typically uttered by domicile resident, while small two-legged animals in disguises often reply at excessive volume "TRICK OR TREAT," at which time saccharine packets are dropped into pouches. This may be followed by inquisitive speech from domicile resident RE disguise and "how cute"/"how scary" small two-legged animal appears in said disguise. Transaction appears complete as domicile resident admonishes small speaking two-legged animals to observe safety precautions and to maximize enjoyment.

Small speaking two-legged animals are typically accompanied by familial large speaking two-legged animals, often and also with speech of excessive volume admonishing small speaking two-legged animals to observe safety requirements, to exercise caution, to wait until return to primary domicilie is complete before ingesting any of the saccharine packet contents, to ambulate at a moderate pace, and to "FOR CRYING OUT LOUD>STOP> I SAID STOP>JUST STOP OR WE WILL GO HOME RIGHT NOW<DEVONTAY," etc...

Tradition seems to last for one to two hours of Earth time before the transit pathways become unfrequented by speaking two-legged creatures of any type. At this point, the gourd-like vegetables are extinguished and the domiciles are often darkened, with the groups of speaking two-legged animals returning to prime domicile with large quantities of saccharine packets.

Further monitoring of darkened domiciles may reveal encounters of two-legged animal aggressive conversational interactions with speech in regards to the need for general hygiene and the rest period being past optimum time for beginning. There are also often complaints from small speaking two-legged animals in regards to ingesting abnormal quantities of saccharine packets and excessive volume speech along the lines of "GOD> YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING." This may be followed by negotiations of some kind or another that lead, typically to compromise or the display of excessive speaking volume statements by large two-legged animals like, "TWO> I SAID TWO OR ALL OF IT GOES INTO THE GARBAGE>OLIVIA." At various times, these excessive speaking volumes lead to the wailing and additional moisture production in occular organs of small speaking two-legged animals within the domicile.

Summation:

The tradition is supportive of the speaking two-legged animal community, but seems to be rife with stressful situations that often lead to two-legged animal sadness, frustration, and excessive speaking volumes. It has many similarities to other speaking two-legged animal traditions:

i.e. general and frequent large familial gatherings, individual celebrations RE revolutions around the local star, and the Earth cold season tradition of the obese red-suited speaking two-legged animal that is a gift dispenser for many small speaking two-legged animals.

Conclusion:

Speaking two-legged animals of planet Earth are very simple, but also oddly complicated."

END TRANSMISSION.

11-1-19