Poetically Twilight

This is a poetic version of an earlier post, Amen and Resurrection. I had been challenged to write a poem that included meditation, sleep, or deep thought. This time of year that speaks directly to personal experience - to my weeks on life support that I described a couple of days ago. Your choice: prose or poem.

twilight

I lived in twilight –
humbled by the constant drip,
magic irresistible,
magic so medicinal,
suspending me somewhere
between what others call awareness
and what they know as sleep.

I lived in twilight -
knowing not if night or day.
Only occasionally did the shaman
curtail that incessant drip,
allowing a world I couldn't touch
to caress my senses. Softly.
And in those moments rare,
I sometimes heard the voices. Faintly.
I sometimes saw the outlines. Dimly.
But mostly I felt machines of life,
doing for me what I once did for myself.

I lived in twilight -
knowing neither pain nor sadness.

I lived in twilight -
knowing neither joy nor laughter.

I lived in twilight -
but I was not.

TGB   

[this memory} 104

This is the story behind last Monday's {this moment}.

I know this image is a bit odd for loving memories, but in this case it's not the actual ship that is at issue. This ship, by the way, is the USS Wisconsin, and she can be toured at the Norfolk, Virginia harborfront.

My father was a career naval officer and served briefly on a battleship, and until my third year at university, I was also considering that as a career. So this image reminds me of my father and roads not taken.

The Wisconsin saw action in the Pacific during World War II, having been commissioned on the second anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attacks. She was brought back for the Korean conflict and again for Operation Desert Storm.Why? Shore bombardment. Those guns you see in the image can throw a shell 16 inches in diameter over 20 miles. But I never got to see one; when I was in the right places, all of the battleships were in mothballs. When two were brought back for Desert Storm, I got excited that I might see one. Didn't happen - they were all again retired before I had a chance.

The Wisconsin was struck from the Naval Vessel Register in 2006 and in 2009 was donated for permanent use as a museum ship. She currently functions as such and is operated by Nauticus, The National Maritime Center in Norfolk, and I finally got up close to a battleship.

Beautiful lines. Incredible power. Large. I think I remember the wooden main deck of teak the most. It's laid over a very thick steel deck and insulates it from the heat of the sun - natural air conditioning. Green?

I'm a fortunate man. Life's been good to me so far.

TGB

Amen And Resurrection

I have generally shied from heavier topics in this space - at least as they have related to my physical challenges or medical history. You will find passing references, but generally only where there is a message that may help others. January's soon becoming February, however, has again brought memories as insistent as they are powerful. What follows is a piece I first posted four years ago to mark the first anniversary of a serious hospitalization.

After a peaceful year two, this year is intensifying all of the emotions that accompany such remembrance. Perhaps it being the fifth such occasion has something to do with it. I'm not sure why that would be the case, but some anniversaries seem like bigger deals than others.

This remembrance is not uplifting, but it is my truth. It is stark, and it is why I rejoice in the arrival of each new day and do all that I can to remain centered in its present. Each is a gift I refuse to squander.

The present is all we ever truly have. Treasure it.

TGB   

Oblivion
Some anniversaries impose themselves on you. And with brute force. This was to be one such anniversary. It would mark a year's passage since the day I should have died. The infection was in total control and laying waste to my body. Rampantly. Savagely. It had already shut down my kidneys, and now I had ceased to breathe. That’s when the alarms sounded. That’s what brought my Keepers running. That’s why they worked so intensely and with coordinated diligence to insert essential tubes, to connect necessary hoses, and to power up their life-sustaining machines.

Over the next fortnight and four days I would be held in the twilight of heavy medication, and on only a few occasions did the Keepers ease its grip sufficiently to allow me to sense slightly the world around me. In those moments I sometimes heard a faint voice or saw a dim outline, but mostly I felt the machines doing what I once did for myself. The Keepers turned my body about a quarter-turn every fifteen minutes although always leaving me slightly longer on my left, a favored position – again doing for me what I could not.

Those days, however, do not exist for me. Not really. I did not live them. I knew not where I was. I knew not whether it was day or night. I knew not even what position I was in. I simply did not feel - neither pain nor sadness nor joy nor laughter. I simply was not.

January 27, 2010  

Mighty Finn - Update #23

Welcome back, friends, and another month has flown by.

Someone must have been cold - so they put this blanket on me.

I've learned that Christmas also means food.

Here I am enjoying some pomegranate seeds.

More food, this time at my Children's Table with my cousin, Gavin.

And, of course, lots of presents - not all mine though.

This one WAS mine. Mommy helped me open it - 

it being Thomas the Tank Engine.

Did I mention the food? Who doesn't like Wonderful Halos?

Yum - better than a Cutie.

I have a card for someone on Christmas Eve. It's nice to give too.

Oh, dear.  I don't do this too often, but sometimes

you just have to be genuine and let it all hang out.

It didn't work as I recall.

One of my favorite things was to sit on Grandpa's lap, and we

would open the next Advent Calendar window on his computer. 

See you real soon.

{this moment} 104

A Monday ritual. A single image - no words - capturing a moment from the past. A simple moment along my life's Journey - but one over which I wish to linger and savor each treasured aspect of the memories it evokes. If you are moved or intrigued by my {this moment}, please leave a comment. On Thursday in a companion ritual called {this memory}, I'll share the story of this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} is a ritual copied and adapted from cath's wonderful blog ~just my thoughts. She, in turn, borrowed it from Pamanner's Blog. Check out their blogs, and if you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your {this moment} in the comments for each of us to find and see.

TGB

The New Pastor

The young man had just been graduated from Bible College and was called to pastor a church close to his home town. The young man was so nervous at his first service, he could hardly speak.

Before his second appearance in the pulpit, though, he asked his former Pastor how he could relax. The older minister said, "Next Sunday, it may help if you put a little vodka in your water glass. After a few sips, everything should go smoothly. I will be visiting your church next week to see how things go for you."

The next Sunday the young minister put the suggestion into practice and was able to talk up a storm. He felt great! After the service, however, his former Pastor pulled him aside and offered this advice for him.

     1. Next time sip rather than gulp.
     2. There are 10 commandments, not 12
     3. There are 12 disciples, not 10
     4. We do not refer to the cross as the "Big T"
     5. The recommended grace before meals is not "Rub-a-dub-dub,
         thanks for the grub. Yeah God!"
     6. We do not refer to Our Savior Jesus and His disciples as
         "J.C. and the Boys"
     7. David slew Goliath; he did not "kick the crap out of him."
     8. Last, but not least, The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost
         are never referred to as "Big Daddy, Junior, and the Spook."

Author Unknown   

Tree

Almost every day I photograph this tree my office window - always from the same angle and about the same time of day. This is my favorite image from the past week.

TGB   

Copyright © 2014 Thomas G. Brown

To view a video set to music that contains 135 images taken over 12 months, click here.

For the 2010 collection of images, click here.
For the 2011 collection of images, click here.
For the 2012 collection of images, click here.

For the 2013 collection of images, click here.

As Cold As It Gets

Brrr. It's been a cold winter of late. Eighteen below yesterday - so cold the furnace can't quite get the house up to normal. I ought to be used to it, but I'm not.

Although I grew up in Virginia Beach, I left Virginia for graduate school in Maine in the early 1970s. I was there four years, and it got pretty cold sometimes. You get used to it being around zero. It's when your get a "cold" snap that it's difficult.

Ten below or even twenty below was curiously interesting. And not unusual. Super crunchy snow. Beards and mustaches very quickly became filled with frost from the moisture of one's breath. Colder than that and it starts to get dangerous. I think once I stepped out into a minus forty chill just to see what it was like. My, my. Just surreal. Thankfully the wind wasn't blowing.

Even milder weather could be problematic. I loved to cross country ski and would go at the drop of a tube of klister. Below a certain temperature, however, we were advised not to. It was such a vigorous work out that as you started to breathing deeply and rapidly, there was the possibility of frosting your lungs. Not a pleasant thought.

The wind chill could be problematic too. I usually skied in local woods and fields - rarely at groomed facilities. I recall the one time I went with friends to a ski resort, we were all quite excited as we arrived. The place was busy, and we were ready. When we went inside to pay, we learned that although there was downhill skiing, the cross country trails were not open. It was too cold and too windy.

It seems the downhillers could ride up, ski down quickly, and if cold, go inside. We cross country types might ski an hour out into the wilds, get cold, and then be another hour from safety. We went back home disappointed. The only time I ever got a bit of frostbite was after moving to New York. I seem to have recovered from that, thank goodness.

I got in the car a few days ago. The dash thermometer read 16˚F. By the time I backed out of the garage and reached the end of the driveway, it said 5˚ and was dropping. I was reminded of the time it followed the same pattern as I drove my daughters somewhere. The car's thermometer said 15˚, but we knew it was colder than that outside of the garage. The digits went into free fall. We weren't sure what it would read after it got to zero since it was our first winter with that car.

15˚ ... 12˚ ... 8˚ ... 6˚ ... 2˚ ... 1˚ ... 0˚ ... -2˚ ... -3˚ ... -6˚ ... -10˚ ... -12˚ ... -13˚ ... -15˚ ... -16˚ ... -16˚ ... -16˚. It was actually slower than that, adjusting one degree at a time, but thank goodness it stabilized. Boy, we sure blasted right through that zero mark!

We've had very few of a few of those unusually cold days in the past couple of weeks, but I'm sure they are on their way. Can you say 'polar vortex?' Sure you can. I guess we'll be ready it though. We'll just bundle up and make certain we don't touch anything cold with wet skin ---

--- not even on a Triple Dog Dare.

TGB   

{this memory} 103

This is the story behind last Monday's {this moment}.

I know this view well. As I sit at my desk, this is my view. Tree - whom I photograph so frequently - is just out of frame to the left.

"Why is this special?" you ask. "What is there to linger over or to savor?" Perhaps there wouldn't be normally, but I'm retiring soon. In four months, and after forty years, I shall no longer have a desk on campus. No more priceless view. I think I described that view best in Window On The World. It is inspiring.

This particular morning there was a magical fog over the athletic fields, reminding me that I'm a fortunate man. Life's been good to me so far.

TGB

{essential truths} Keep Going

You'll learn that you can keep going

long after you think you can't.

The Vast Temptation To Cheat

Classes begin this week, and I post again my traditional admonition. Sorry, but you're getting this one for the last time. (Cheers) Here begins my last semester (my 78th) in the classroom at Utica College.

Before returning to happier topics, I'm compelled to comment on the cheating epidemic - much of which is driven by the laziness I characterized as a symptom of our lost learning ethic in My Inconvenient Truth.

"F for Cheating. It has a rather ominous ring, doesn't it? The faculty at the college where I teach are authorized to assign an "F for Cheating" as a course grade and with the phrase "for cheating" placed on a transcript for intellectual dishonesty - either cheating or plagiarism. In a community of scholars, there is little room for either. We come together each year to give and receive knowledge, to explore new ideas, and to grow intellectually. I might add that faculty and students alike ought to be expected to do the receiving and giving and the exploring and growing. As an academic endeavor, however, college just doesn't function well in an atmosphere of distrust and dishonesty. Life doesn't either.


Many students (and a fair number of faculty, I suppose) hold the belief that grades are the measure of academic success. Perhaps, but I could argue the point. What I won't debate is that our society encourages and reinforces that belief. Whether it be parents or peers or prospective employers, the exhortation for ever higher marks is strong, and that pressure undoubtedly tempts many students to try the shortcuts of cheating and plagiarism. Well, there are no academic shortcuts, and knowledge not now obtained must be acquired later and at a much higher price. That's a hard lesson to learn for it would seem that experience alone teaches the value of learning a difficult thing well as well as the genuine sense of satisfaction that comes with honest achievement.


Cheating, however, is rampant. We must find a way to get society to consider the gravity of such behavior - whether it's our own or that of another. Ignoring for now the ethical issues, how would you feel if you learned that your physician had made it through school by cheating? Or your accountant? Or the engineer who designed the bridge upon which you're driving? It really is a serious matter, and it is all too easily rationalized. We all – students, faculty, and others - need to examine how we feel about others who cheat and to engage each other in earnest discussion about it.

Now, I am a realist. I don't live in a Pollyanna world. I know that cheating is going to occur. I also know that a few of my colleagues will turn their heads. Thank goodness that while there are faculty who actually encourage cheating by providing easy opportunity and little sanction (the same faculty who will bemoan such behavior and label the students the worst group of cheaters yet), there are many more who are strongly motivated to do something about it. I am one of those – one who tries to make cheating difficult and does not hesitate to fail the student when I see it - whether it occurs on the first quiz or the final examination, on a one page essay or a forty page term paper. Can you say "twisted knickers?"

My own undergraduate years were spent at the University of Virginia with a student administered honor system envisioned by Jefferson himself - although he didn’t live to see it implemented. This famed system was built on the premise that there is no degree of honor; you are either an honorable person or you aren't. Consequently, there was but a single sanction; those who were not honorable left the institution. I earned countless grades in four years but only after signing the following: “On my honor as a gentleman, I have neither given nor received said on this examination (or assignment).” I acknowledge that was another time and another place, but there was essentially no cheating or plagiarism. The trust among faculty and students engendered by that system made for a delightful and fertile learning environment, and there is little more that one can ask of an institution.

So I ask my faculty colleagues to be demanding, but fair. Set high goals for your students, and hold them accountable for reaching those goals. At the same time be cognizant of the pressures on students and work with them to reduce them. Of students, I ask that you be demanding of yourselves by resisting the temptation to take the shortcut, be demanding of your fellow students by insisting that they work by the same rules as you, and be demanding of your professors by asking that they be fully engaged in their courses. For anyone, faculty or student, to settle for anything less is to tolerate a level of mediocrity that reflects poorly on us all. Let's not sell ourselves short.

TGB

{this moment} 103

A Monday ritual. A single image - no words - capturing a moment from the past. A simple moment along my life's Journey - but one over which I wish to linger and savor each treasured aspect of the memories it evokes. If you are moved or intrigued by my {this moment}, please leave a comment. On Thursday in a companion ritual called {this memory}, I'll share the story of this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} is a ritual copied and adapted from cath's wonderful blog ~just my thoughts. She, in turn, borrowed it from Pamanner's Blog. Check out their blogs, and if you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your {this moment} in the comments for each of us to find and see.

TGB

Crossword

Warning: Some readers may find this story offensive.

A gentleman was preparing to board a plane when he heard that the Pope was on the same flight. “This is exciting,” thinks the gentleman. “Perhaps I'll be able to see him in person.”

Imagine his surprise when the Pope sat down in the seat next to him.

Shortly after take-off, the Pope began a crossword puzzle and almost immediately turned to the gentleman and said, “Excuse me, but do you know a four letter word referring to a woman that ends in ‘unt?’”

Only one word leapt to mind. “My goodness,” thought the gentleman, “I can't tell the Pope that. There must be another word.”

The gentleman thought for quite a while, and then it hit him. Turning to the Pope, the gentleman said, “I think the word you're looking for is ‘aunt.’” “Of course,” said the Pope. “Do you have an eraser?”

Author Unknown 

Tree

Almost every day I photograph this tree my office window - always from the same angle and about the same time of day. This is my favorite image from the past week.

TGB   

Copyright © 2014 Thomas G. Brown

To view a video set to music that contains 135 images taken over 12 months, click here.

For the 2010 collection of images, click here.
For the 2011 collection of images, click here.
For the 2012 collection of images, click here.

For the 2013 collection of images, click here.

Finn's Feet

Twenty-two months ago in my very first post about my new grandson, The Mighty Finn, I wrote "Of course, now I have to live up to his expectations, and I'll try my best to do so."

That's the trick. I do want him to be proud of me. I know it seems like we usually say it the other way round, but I think this makes more sense. But ... that's not the only expectation.

Recently I received this from him.

And then there was the text that accompanied his footprints.

     "Walk a little slower, grandpa," said a little child so small.
     I'm following in your footsteps, and I don't want to fall."

     "Sometimes your steps are very fast; sometimes they're hard to see.
     So walk a little slower, grandpa, for you are leading me.

     "Someday when I am all grown up, you're what I want to be.
     By then I'll have a little child who'll want to follow me.

     "And I would want to lead just right and know that I was true.
     So walk a little slower, grandpa, for I must follow you."

Deep breath.

TGB   

{this memory} 102

This is the story behind last Monday's {this moment}.

I know them well although only one is still living.

On the left is the Reverend Glenn Rorie, my uncle and a namesake. On his left is his younger sister, Mary Alice Rorie Brown and my mother; she is still going strong at almost 94. Then comes their mother, my grandmother Amy Alice Galloway Rorie (111 years old but died at 98). And then there is my grandfather, the Reverend Thomas Oliver Rorie, Sr. and my other namesake. He died at 85 but would be 114 today.

Who would have thought I'd be named after two Methodist ministers?! Someone has a sense of humor.

I have no specific memories attached to this photo. It is from the early 1950s and looks to be in front of the parsonage in Shreveport, Louisiana. Mostly it's a chance to remember these four and the roles they played in my life. Each had a positive influence on me but in very different ways.

I am a fortunate man. Life's been good to me so far.

TGB

How Does It Taste?

One of my daughters sent me this recently, and I liked enough to want to share it with my friends. It's better than my usual crackerjack musing. She received it from Rev. Josh Whistler, a Chaplain at Children's Hospital Colorado in Denver. I'm uncertain where he first read it.

TGB   

An aging Zen master grew tired of his student complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master instructed the unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it.

"How does it taste?" the master asked.

"Bitter," spit the apprentice.

The master then asked the young man to take another handful of salt and put it in the lake nearby. Once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, "Now drink from the lake."

As the water dripped down the young man's chin, the master asked, "How does it taste?"

"Fresh," remarked the apprentice.

"Do you taste the salt?" asked the master.

"No," said the young man.

At this, the master took the young man's hands, offering, "The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains exactly the same. However, the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in.

May your day be fresh.

Like Any Other

It was a day just like any other day. Only different.

It started out the same. Morning meds. Cheerios. Coffee. Attend to blogging and FaceBook needs. Check and respond to email. Enter some sweepstakes. On to the New York Times - especially Front Page, Science, Health, Education, Op-Eds, and then whatever else catches my eye. And finally, should time permit, some puzzles - Sudoku, Ken Ken, Sets, Crossword. Get that brain working.

If it stopped there, it would have been a day just like any other day, but I had to go out. My dentist wanted me to stop by so he could check something he did a couple of weeks ago. Five minutes and I was heading home.

Traveling, by the way, is a pain. I have a portable oxygen concentrator. It's on wheels like you see suitcases. I roll it to the car, set it behind the driver's seat, take off the cannula and throw it to the front seat, get into the driver's seat, and put the cannula back on. Same at the dentist's. In and out, and I'm on my way home.

As I get to my driveway, I decide to back in. We have a long driveway that is much easier when one transits it head first. At the bottom of the driveway where it connects with the street, it is bracketed by deep ditches, and over the years we've had at least a dozen guests get at least one wheel in the ditch. We call for the tow truck, and it's a pretty easy out.

That's when the day became different Damn. I judged that wrong and am now in an odd position - left front tire up in the air and left rear well into the ditch.

Not much to do now but call AAA and explain to each of the dozen or so concerned passersby that I'm fine, just embarrassed, and help is on the way. It looks a lot worse than it is.

Help was, and I was easily extracted. I pulled into the driveway head first this time, happy to be heading inside. I guess I can no longer tease those who have found the ditch before me, and I'm hoping this is my stupidity for this month.

TGB   

No vehicles were damaged

in the making of this photograph.

{this moment} 102

A Monday ritual. A single image - no words - capturing a moment from the past. A simple moment along my life's Journey - but one over which I wish to linger and savor each treasured aspect of the memories it evokes. If you are moved or intrigued by my {this moment}, please leave a comment. On Thursday in a companion ritual called {this memory}, I'll share the story of this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} is a ritual copied and adapted from cath's wonderful blog ~just my thoughts. She, in turn, borrowed it from Pamanner's Blog. Check out their blogs, and if you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your {this moment} in the comments for each of us to find and see.

TGB

Keep Knocking

A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church and enters a confessional booth. He sits down but says nothing. The Priest coughs a few times, trying to get his attention, but the drunk just continues to sit there. Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall. The drunk mumbles, "Ain't no use knockin'! There's no paper on this side either!"

Author Unknown   

Tree

Almost every day I photograph a tree my office window - always from the same angle and about the same time of day. On Saturdays I usually post my favorite image from the past week. Not this week. I have been out of the office for the entire week, so I offer you this as a substitute.

TGB   

For the 2010 collection of images, click here.
For the 2011 collection of images, click here.
For the 2012 collection of images, click here.
For the 2013 collection of images, click here.

Buon Natale

One last Christmas post - we're still fully decorated here, so this should come as no surprise. I offer a 'poem' by my older daughter. She sent this to family about a decade ago, fully illustrated with photographs, just after the Christmas Eve gathering (see the Family of the Bride.) It's thoroughly tongue-in-cheek, and I still find it very funny and am amazed in that it could paint a portrait of this year's celebration just as well as that year's. Family tradition is strong in this household.


'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through my house
Not a creature was stirring, not even the dead skunk in the garage.
The Christmas trees were alight in every single room,
Evidence that my mother had recently been there.

Just one child was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of sugar plums danced in her head.

And my sister in her (tarty) earrings, and I in my (dangerously pointy) heels,
Were still hours away from a long winter's nap
(But at least my pedicure made it this far).

When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow (this IS upstate New York)
Gave the lustre of midday to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a few aunts and uncles, and sixteen-plus cousins.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Uncle Bill.
More rapid than eagles, his courses they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Andrea! Now Emily!
Now, Kelley and Andy!
On, Christopher! On, Chloé!
On, Jason and Peter!

To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash inside! Dash inside!
Dash inside all!"

And then, in a twinkling, we were packed into a church
The fat lady squeezed behind the holy water, her perch.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the aisle came the crazy priest with a bound.

He was dressed like Bono, from his sunglasses to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with excessive(!) incense and soot.
His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
What was he smoking before the mass?
He rambled about Iraq and misused the word “crass”
That his associations were loose and his ideas tangential
Convinced my father that he was really quite mental.
(A recent schizophrenic break, perhaps?)

At home again, we spoke not a word, but went straight to our work,
Filling our bellies with shrimp scampi, aubergine parmigiana, and biscotti.
And opening presents at Chloé’s command

No one was embarrassed by lingerie from great-aunts.
And as we emptied my parents’ liquor supply all around,
We discovered that there was no Red Bull to be found.

Jay and Pete sprang to Andy’s sleigh
And away they all slid down the icy road (barely missing a large rock).
But they made it back in time for some Jager bombs
But at last I heard Chris exclaim,

"Nothing says ‘Merry Christmas’ like drinking with family!"

Love, Amy

{this memory} 101

This is the story behind last Monday's {this moment}.

Okay. I have to admit this is a little strange for a special moment.

This tree is in my backyard, and it's covered in snow, beautifully covered. When I look at it, I recall all of the wonderful times I had cross country skiing in Maine and New York. I loved it.

That was another time though, and today I can no longer do that. It's too dangerous given my health status. So ... looking at my tree is somewhat bittersweet. It's beautiful, of course, but those wonderful memories are tempered by the disappointment resulting from my current inability.

Nevertheless, I am a fortunate man. Life's been good to me so far.

TGB

Some Like It Not

I want a gong (that's a G not a B).

In a couple of weeks I'll begin my last semester as a professor. There will be lots to miss, of course, but there are some things I won't miss a bit. As I begin to anticipate the return of the students and my faculty colleagues, it’s become quite clear that my academic life would be better if I had a gong.

Just think of all the situations in which it would be useful. Last fall when a student appropriately raised his hand to ask a question, I was thrilled to have a question. When I called on him, he asked me if I could go back to the previous PowerPoint slide. "Sure." And I did. It was a slide for which I had just spent about ten minutes covering several points that all inter-related really well.

Then, when I wondered if he had a question about it, he asked if I could explain the whole slide. Somewhat irritated, I asked if he was listening when I covered the material the first time. He said, "No." So I said, "No. You should have been listening." That’s when I needed the gong. Bongggg!!. (Now it's a B and not a G. English is like that. Gongs make bongs.)

It would have been nice too if a hook came around the corner and dragged him into the hallway where three UC Ambassadors from the Admissions Office beat the living daylights out of him, but I suppose that would be too much to ask. I’m not sure the Media Center is going to supply the gong anyway, but I should ask anyway.

And those faculty meetings! I don’t normally have a problem with attending meetings, certainly not if they are the least bit productive. I’ve noticed over the last few years, however, that productivity at these meetings has declined in direct proportion to the increasing number of colleagues who like to listen to themselves speak - even when they have nothing of consequence to add to the discussion.

The first time I hear a point repeated for the fourth time - Bongggg!! – and here would come the hook to drag them into the hallway where three UC Ambassadors from the Admissions Office would beat the living daylights out of them. If we had done that when they were students, we wouldn't have this problem today.

Who am I kidding? I’ll never get the gong past the metal detectors anyway. Oh, you didn’t hear about those? I guess you weren't paying attention at the meeting where ...

TGB

{essential truths} First Bait

Always offer to bait your date's hook,

especially on the first date.

{this moment} 101

A Monday ritual. A single image - no words - capturing a moment from the past. A simple moment along my life's Journey - but one over which I wish to linger and savor each treasured aspect of the memories it evokes. If you are moved or intrigued by my {this moment}, please leave a comment. On Thursday in a companion ritual called {this memory}, I'll share the story of this moment.

{this moment}

{this moment} is a ritual copied and adapted from cath's wonderful blog ~just my thoughts. She, in turn, borrowed it from Pamanner's Blog. Check out their blogs, and if you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your {this moment} in the comments for each of us to find and see.

TGB

Heavenly Baseball

Two buddies Chris and John were two of the biggest baseball fans in America. For their entire adult lives, Chris and John discussed baseball history in the winter, and they pored over every box score during the season. They went to 60 games a year. They even agreed that whoever died first would try to come back and tell the other if there was baseball in heaven.

One summer night, Chris passed away in his sleep after watching the Yankee victory earlier in the evening. He died happy. A few nights later, his buddy John awoke to the sound of Chris's voice from beyond. "Chris is that you?" John asked. "Of course, it's me," Chris replied.

"This is unbelievable!" John exclaimed. "So tell me, is there baseball in heaven?" "Well I have some good news and some bad news for you. Which do you want to hear first?"

"Tell me the good news first." "Well, the good news is that, yes, there is baseball in heaven, John." "Oh, that is wonderful! So what could possibly be the bad news?" "You're pitching tomorrow night."

Author Unknown   

Tree

Not my usual Saturday selection and a repeat to boot. Almost every day I photograph this tree near my office window, and I've used a winter image and a bit of magic from Adobe Photoshop® for this greeting.

TGB  

Copyright © 2011 Thomas G. Brown

A Rising With The Sun

"Rise and Shine"

Oh, no! Say it isn't so.
It can't be time to get up.

Wednesday was the infamous Day After the Night Before, and in this case, the particular night before was, of course, New Year's Eve.

There have been only a few times in my life when I have really tied one on and rung in the New Year on a high note, so to speak. Many folks, however, do have the time of their lives at one of those iconic balloon-dropping dancing-to-dawn hat-wearing noisemaker-tooting champagne-fountain-spewing celebrations. I don't know whether to feel happy or sad for those folks - happy that they had such a wonderful time or sad they are probably going to own one monstrous hangover.

Most of my New Year's midnights have been home-based family affairs - filled with fun, games, good food and drink, and surrounded by love. Nothing to complain about except that the party ends at midnight, and often that is what we are waiting for. In other words, we are all just sort of hanging in there until midnight so we can go home. It seems to me if one is really going to celebrate, you need to be somewhere where midnight's passing is just one entry on the evening's list of events, and it has to be in the middle of that list, not the end of it. Then you have reason to continue celebrating the New Year.

So were you able to Rise and Shine on New Year's Day? I'm told that was a favorite expression of mine not long after I was able to say it. Two, three, and four years of age - the first few years of the 1950s. I'm also told I was a happy toddler, and you could count on me to wake up smiling and proceed to tell everyone it was time to Rise and Shine.

They hated it - just as all of you who manage to revel and ring in the New Year would have hated it if I called you at 7:00 am and said Rise and Shine. As soon as the sun was up, I was up, and I guess I had a way of saying it that - if I weren't so damn cute - would make you want to smack me the way most people do their snooze alarms.

My father, who was a naval officer, evidently took advantage of some World War II surplus supplies which were easily obtained in the early years after the war. He purchased black out shades, the kind used in the US but more typically in England to hide the lights within homes, stores, and offices from German bombers making night time raids. The Germans needed the lights to identify where they were and when to drop their bombs.

My family needed the shades to protect them from me. If I didn't know the sun was up, I would sleep later, and more importantly, everyone else could sleep later. I guess it worked.

I don't know what you did for New Year's Eve, but I bet you're glad I didn't call you the next morning to say ...

TGB   

{this memory) 100

This is the story behind last Monday's {this moment}.

I think this was in 1955. I'm in the middle, aged 7. My older brother is to my left, and my maternal grandmother is to my right. My mom was the photographer, and the big doors in the background are the entrance to the Alamo. Yep, we're in San Antonio.

But we're on the move. My father had taken over as commander of the Naval Reserve Center in Hutchinson, Kansas, but he had not yet secured suitable housing for our family. Because of that, I started the second grade living with my grandparents in Grand Cane, Louisiana. I wrote a little about this adventure in my first {this memory} 1.

After a couple of months, we were ready to complete the move to Kansas. We headed south first, though, so my mom and grandmother could visit Victoria, Texas, where they had lived for a spell while my grandfather preached there. From there we went on to San Antonio and the Alamo which is the only part of this trek that I actually remember. Then the road went to Dallas, continued north through Oklahoma, and brought us into Kansas where we lived for three years before moving back to Virginia.

I've been back to the Alamo at least twice as an adult, but neither time was I as impressed as I was this first time. I hope you get the chance sometime to visit this shrine to Texas liberty. It's inspiring.

I am a fortunate man. Life's been good to me so far.

TGB

Days Of Whine And Resolutions

I guess it's time to think about resolutions, my New Year's Resolutions.

I've made only a few in my life, and in each case they re-
presented needed change. Evidently, however, being resolute
was not a sufficient condition. Yes, there was a modicum
of success with the desired changes, and for a time my
behaviors improved. Before long, though, they re-
turned to baseline - as we behaviorists are wont to
say, and defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory. Sigh. Oops. Alas. Woe is me. Now what?

So I find myself torn about making any resolutions. After all, why bother if ultimately they don't work? I joked the other day that perhaps I should resolve to make no resolutions. The problem with that, of course, is that it is doomed to failure. Ipso facto.

Resolutions don't work for most people because the word "resolution" is in the same category as the word "diet." Each implies that we can make some temporary changes for a brief period, and everything will be better. Then we are surprised when - after some initial progress - we find ourselves back where we started. Long lasting change requires hard work.

Nevertheless, we are blessed once a year with a chance to make a fresh start - to begin anew with a clean slate, and I think we should take advantage of that gift. If I could, I would build a huge stone circle to tell me when a new annual cycle was beginning. That way if I weren't invited to a New Year's Eve party, I could still know when my slate was once again about to be cleaned.

If nothing else, January represents a good time to reflect on what's working in our lives and what isn't. It's certainly an opportunity to consider what we might do better.

In that scenario, resolutions proper might not be necessary. If you, however, are the type whom these public or private commitments help motivate, then by all means go for it. Make your resolutions.

For me, simply taking time for some critical self-reflection on how I'm doing is more important. It's in the identification of those areas of my life where I can do better that I find the significance, and making a formal resolution holds little value for me. I guess it's the thought that counts.

For those of you who think I'm missing out, I'll make one, I guess - sort of an über resolution. I resolve to do better which in my mind means to be better. Or, at least I resolve to think about that - to be better at BEing. Wish me luck.

Oh ... by the way ... if I'm honest ... shedding a few pounds and exercising wouldn't hurt either.

TGB