An Excerpt in Search of an Essay

I like history. I wish I could get paid to just sit around and read, ruminate, and occasionally pontificate on the subject. But alas, no such freedom for me at this juncture of my life.

Currently, I am about 100 pages into Jon Meacham's biography on Thomas Jefferson. In the first pages, I latched on to a single quote that sent me down a philosophical trail that as yet has no clear destination, but remains a journey I am nonetheless enjoying very much. From Jon Meacham, on the subject of the study of Thomas Jefferson:

"... and if we are to understand what he was like, and what life was like for him, then we must see the world as he saw it, not as how we know it turned out."

I have turned that over and over in my mind, of late, as it captures well what I have long thought with regard to a proper study of history's figures and events: that the best view is a panoramic not from a single vantage point, but from a great many. Indeed, I am in a desperate search for the proper mathematical representation to explain this concept or approach to historical study. Even the great Google is no help to me in solving that puzzle, to my great dismay. Alas.

This philosophical trail has thus far produced a nugget, an excerpt, for which no essay has yet been developed. Maybe I will find a place for it someday, but for now, it must stand on its own as a fragment of an idea. A piece of a picture that is yet incomplete. And it is simply this:

There can be no one single, authoritative source for history. Such would be a singular view, as if one were to look out a single, rectangular window to the western expanse and be convinced that there is nothing more beyond that which the eyes can see, all the while missing what lies to the north, south and east. It matters not how large the window. The fullness of history must come from multiple angles of view, through the myriad of voices across the passage of time. It is through this panoramic that we may escape the danger of romanticizing the subjects of our study, and instead seed our passions for the study itself. For even our greats are flawed, compromised morally, and that frequently. It is this truth that makes their accomplishments all the more noteworthy, even and especially despite the sometimes unsavory qualities and disastrous consequences that lace their narratives. Yet the least of our least, too, have stories that leave their indelible mark, moments of honor, even if fleeting. Should we not celebrate all and the fullness thereof, or must we obscure the undesired in favor of summary judgment, good or ill?

The latter is easy. The former takes time, and a willingness to take in the full panoramic, even if it means standing in uncomfortable places.

I would love to elaborate on what this means. As yet, I'm still working through it. So why publish it now? One reason: I may never come back to it, or if I do, too much time will have passed for me to remember the particulars of the journey of thought that produced it.

So don't be surprised if you see this formulation again. For it is indeed an excerpt in search of an essay.

Remembrance: They Were Flying for Me

Twenty-eight years. Seems like so long ago, and yet so vividly close as to still seize my heart. Although the anniversary was a couple of days ago, the moment did not pass by me unnoticed - rather, I just chose not to comment until today. I thought about letting it pass, but a stray reference brought my attention to a song that commemorates the day and the people whose pioneer spirit still lifts some of us today.

The pursuit of the heavens through human space flight is at its lowest ebb in two generations, at least sometimes it seems that way. Perhaps it is just changing. But I am glad that for some, that dream remains alive, if not vibrant as yet to recapture the imagination of the people.

I somehow had never heard this song before. But it captures so much:


I have to be reminded from time to time that the pursuit of dreams, while not always fulfilled, nevertheless enriches us in the pursuit itself. Yet the pursuit must have a prize, an aim, lest the energy for the pursuit be lost. And so we must reawaken and nurture those dreams, whatever they may be, whosever they may be. May we never stop reaching for the stars, literally and figuratively.

Sunrise at Sixteen Degrees

"Now is the winter of our discontent ...." So says Richard III in the opening lines of Shakespeare's classic. Discontent is perhaps too strong a word, but as is my wont during the unsettled cycles in my chosen industry, I allow these somewhat anxious and fatiguing days to sap at my strength and my hope, leaving more than a modicum of doubt and fear in its wake. While I continue to take whatever proactive steps I can, there are nights when sleep is hard to come by.

But the sun always rises, and this morning was no exception. A bitter chill reminiscent of my Dakota upbringing has descended upon our area, and yet on this morning allowed for a crystal sky, a glimpse of Mercury, and rays of hope at sixteen degrees. For a precious moment, I was not alone in my aloneness.

I want so desperately for things to be simple and clear and manageable from day to day, moment to moment. But it is not always to be, and fighting it can be taxing. And yet I know there is something to be gained from the fight, even if only in my understanding. This I find to be true: Simplicity is appealing and certainly worthy of pursuit, but wrestling with complexity is not without reward. So I choose to press on through this unsettled season, knowing and not knowing, working and trusting, and above all, hoping and believing.

"On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand."

Perils and Parallels

We live an era of burgeoning neo-isolationism. This is not an original observation, but it is an important one. A decade and a half of war and conflict is the primarily catalyst for this philosophical retreat of the American socio-political mindset, and is not surprising given our traditional reluctance to engage too deeply in what some would term our "foreign adventures."

Much has been written about the purported decline of American influence in the world, the so-called failings of the benevolent American hegemony. Usually you find such conclusions written from the perch of left-leaning newsrooms or Ivy-league academia, the self-styled guardians of history and interpreters of events. The rise and fall of American prestige is typically laid at the feet of the occupant of the White House, and devolves less and less around policy than personality. That perceptions of American strength and popularity depend on the carefully crafted media façade surrounding any given administration is frightening, but any rational review of the way governments relate to one another prove that policy remains the primary driver behind diplomacy and international co-existence. If the American hegemony is indeed in retreat, we can lay the blame firmly at the feet of our collective failing in the diplomatic assertion of coherent principle, posture, and policy.

What's interesting about this neo-isolationist trend is that it is supported by an otherwise unlikely alliance of political foes - the die-hard libertarian and the leftist progressive. The former is all about individual liberty and freedom, while the latter is all about centralized control and management of society. Yet neither want a large footprint in foreign affairs beyond what is needed for basic trade and limited self-defense. One side wants to be left alone, the other wants to effectively rule or be ruled, both prefer to preoccupy themselves with themselves and leave the nations of the world to manage their own affairs and conflicts. And while our citizens and media alike turn their eyes inward, the maneuvering of governments continues apace, from Russia to Iran to China and beyond. I've long been preoccupied with Russia, somewhat less so with Iran, but until recently haven't concerned myself too greatly with China beyond the extreme discomfort that comes with the fact that China has the power to wreak chaos on our economy simply by calling in the loan on our massive national debt. But this fall, China began to extend their saber rattling beyond Taiwan into the broader Asian-Pacific region, and thus caught my renewed attention.

China and Japan have a long-running dispute over the territorial claims to a set of islands in what most call the East China Sea. In November, however, China asserted territorial rights to the airspace above those islands, extending far beyond internationally recognized boundaries. This move was disturbing in itself, but even more disturbing at first was what appeared to be a delay in American response. Why was an American response warranted? Because of our mutual protection treaty with Japan and other Asian-Pacific nations. But a few days later, in a response that both surprised and encouraged me, the U.S. flew two B-52 right down the center of that disputed airspace. The diplomatic message was decidedly mixed after that, but the military message was pretty clear. This whole episode drove me to pay closer attention to China's new adventurism. And I'm not the only one. Essays and articles are popping up everywhere, especially with 2014 marking the 100th anniversary of the start of World War I. The overriding question: is history repeating itself?

In a post at Ricochet.com, military historian and professor Victor Davis Hanson discusses the parallels that may be at play in the ongoing chess match amidst the almost willful ignorance of conventional wisdom. I urge you to read the whole thing. A couple of excerpts worth examination (emphasis mine):

The tensions, however, continue and that invites historical analogies, most frequently to the calm before the unexpected storm of late 1914. Then also, Germany (read: China) believed its newfound power was not fairly appreciated by colonial Britain and France. America was isolationist and indifferent. The early 20th-century intelligentsia still believed that breakthrough technologies in communications and travel had created a new, interconnected world economy that no European power would be stupid enough to disrupt. Yet, supposedly, miscalculation, accident, and the unforeseen followed, triggering the nightmare of World War I— a war that no one really wanted.

In truth, wars rarely are caused by accident. Most nations know exactly what they are doing. While miscalculation can accelerate or retard the outbreak of a war, it is infrequently its primary cause. Instead, an absence of deterrence encourages adventurism, as aggressive powers are unsure of the relative strength (or the will to use it) of their rivals and thus believe they might gain an advantage by risking or even inviting war. War, then, becomes a sort of litmus test for verifying which nations or alliances of nations were the more powerful all along. Peace returns when such clarity is reestablished, as the weaker, defeated party accepts post-war subordination.

This is the danger of neo-isolationism. The appearance or perception of American retreat from the world stage, the failure to back up our traditional allies, the willingness to kowtow to the aspirations of our adversaries leads to confusion over who counts among the strong. Iran pushes forward because it can. Putin throws Russian influence around his neighbors because he can. Al Qaeda is reasserting itself across the Middle East because there is a vacuum to fill. China has an overly male and restless population, vast economic clout, and a vision of ascendancy to broaden the boundaries of its own hegemony. Is history repeating itself? Do the parallels suggested by various scholars regarding the present day have merit? (After all, I've seen our present situation compared to the 1970's and to the 1930's. Why not 1914?) To this end, Hanson concludes:

China may think it will own the late 21st century, but it needs to be reminded diplomatically (backed by displays of strength) that such a day is not yet here. A determined U.S. needs to send the message that any aggression against Japan would be met by solidarity among a number of nations, spearheaded by Washington. Only by reestablishing deterrence in the region can the democracies guide China away from the path of the Kaiser and the Japanese militarists of old—and remind it that reckless new powers that act precipitously beyond their capabilities usually end up badly.

Of course that's what should be done. The question is, do present and future administrations have the will to assert principle, posture, and policy in this arena, under these conditions? We can navel gaze about universal healthcare and entitlements forever, but the games of nations continues, and we ignore it to our peril.

I don't know that history repeats itself. I do know that throughout history, civilization demonstrates cycles. Powers rise and fall. Societies come together, thrive, come apart, flail, and come together again in new forms. War is always a part of these cycles. This is the pattern of human civilization. What drives modern scholars and historians to look to history for context to modern geopolitics? Are they simply looking for predictive models to judge current events, justification to drive current events, or simply the academic pursuit of discovery that ultimately concludes: "here we go again"?

I don't know. What I do know is that it is foolish to believe that a large regional conflict, or even world war, is outside the realm of possibility, even within our lifetimes. And yet it is equally foolish to believe that it is inevitable. One thing is sure: we must engage, or we will necessarily retreat.

A Thought on Thinking

What follows is both a rebuke and reminder to myself not to succumb to the deception that I have nothing original to offer. The idea is born from the notion that an "original thought" is one that no one else has conceived. If we allow ourselves to believe that original thought is beyond our grasp, then what follows is a surrender to the status quo and the forces that capitalize on our cognitive slumber and sloth.

Overcoming inertia takes an epiphany, a spark, followed by a tremendous amount of energy and singular direction to achieve escape velocity. Labor that results in a revelatory thought is no less an achievement simply because someone else has previously thought it. I need to continuously encourage my children with the idea that original thought is not a result born of the notion that one can come up with a unique idea that no one else has before. Rather, original thought is the product of applying a methodology (even if not original!) that facilitates critical thinking. If the result is "wrong", we can correct the error with additional facts or knowledge. But perish the thought that we have nothing to correct for lack of endeavor!

Thinking requires energy and labor that too many have been deceived into believing is unnecessary, or beyond their capacity.

Critical and creative thinking requires principle and process, and the ability to perceive and extend that perception into the realm of possibility. I know at one level that phrasing sounds a little hokey, but I believe it to be true.

Those who once told us to "question authority" now implicitly demand that we don't, a natural result of having acquired the power that comes with authority. That may seem like a political rendering of the thought, but it is not necessarily confined to the political. Science and philosophy both base their origins on the questioning and challenging of assumptions. And yet "experts" abound telling us that all is "settled" and thus no longer subject to review. Questioning "why" is essential to developing the capacity to think for ourselves. The result may undercut previously held beliefs, or may further fortify and substantiate those beliefs. But the fact is, some people choose not to engage in the exercise.

I know that few will ever read these words and ponder these thoughts. But the effort is worth it, because the thought, duly arrived at through the exercise of cognitive function, is both revelatory and original. Because I thought it.

And that is enough.

Merry Christmas!

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas!

For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of His government and peace
There will be no end,
Upon the throne of David and over His kingdom,
To order it and establish it with judgment and justice
From that time forward, even forever.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.

Crooner Christmas

So, what shall we talk about? Heh. I don't have a clue. I really don't have much time to write at the present, due to an insane end-of-year push that has me working almost more overtime than I can handle. Stress levels run high, common sense falters, but of course failure is not an option, so it is full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes.

All the more reason for me to find solace where I can, and lately, that's been immersing myself in the music of yesteryear while I pour myself into the final phases of my project. I've mentioned before my rediscovery of music from the big band era, to include a growing appreciation for the crooners of old. Growing up in the '80s, I had little to no appreciation for the timeless quality and true musicality of that genre. But I suppose tastes can change over time. I'm now that guy that thinks that most modern music sucks. Some of it is okay, I suppose, but on the whole, what kids listen to these days I can do without. Official Over-the-Hill Gold Card? Check.

Lately, I kind of feel like the Harry Anderson character in that old '80s show Night Court. A recurring plot line for the show was Harry's fondness for the music styles of Mel Torme. Here's a classic scene:


I periodically lament the lack of pure voice talent I have. To be able to sing like Sinatra, Martin, Crosby ... that would be cool. But that takes nothing away from the enjoyment of the talent and style that comes with those who can. So I have been flipping around on YouTube in search of crooner Christmas classics. Here are a couple of links, just for fun:

Mel Torme - Christmas Time is Here

Bing Crosby - White Christmas

Frank Sinatra - Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Crooning Christmas with Bing, Frank & Dean

Not crooner, but a big band rendition of Jingle Bells by Benny Goodman and His Orchestra

I'm doing what I can to keep the humbugs at bay these last couple of weeks before Christmas. So as strange as it may sound, I'm just going to croon my way into the spirit this year.

Until next time, keep it smooth.

Happy Thanksgiving!

To you and yours, I wish you all a very blessed and happy Thanksgiving! May you rejoice in time with family and friends, and enjoy each other's company, and find time to smile a little too. Be safe and God Bless!

On This Veterans Day

Whenever I do a post like this, for a day like this, I struggle mightily, in part because I feel that token expressions of retail gratitude are far too insufficient a response when it comes to the recognition of the valiant service and sacrifice of those who serve and have served this nation.

Each year, I read over famous quotes, look through past speeches, drink in stories of the men and women who give so much for a cause that fewer and fewer seem to fully appreciate. I torment myself, in fact, over choices made and not made, always coming to the conclusion that I am where I am supposed to be, but nevertheless hobbled by the truth that I did not choose to serve.

I was tempted to give up today, and not write anything at all. And yet, I find myself unable to accept that attitude, even for a simple blog post.

John F. Kennedy once said, "As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them."

From Mark Twain: "In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot."

And from the passionate Patrick Henry: "The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave."

It is within these words above today that I find my voice.

There is a scene at the end of Saving Private Ryan that came to mind as I reflected on these quotes. Watch and listen:


The clip ends abruptly, but what follows is worth the reading (from IMDB.com):

Old James Ryan: [addressing Capt. Miller's grave] My family is with me today. They wanted to come with me. To be honest with you, I wasn't sure how I'd feel coming back here. Every day I think about what you said to me that day on the bridge. I tried to live my life the best that I could. I hope that was enough. I hope that, at least in your eyes, I've earned what all of you have done for me.

I am a civilian. There are marvels and horrors my eyes may never see, bonds I may never know or fully understand, joys and anguish that may never mark my soul. For this I am grateful, but for this I am not entitled. I have done nothing to deserve this, but for accident of birthright. It weighs upon me, and challenges me.

I have been saved by grace alone, and that from my Father in Heaven. As for the life I lead here, I can only pray that I have and will continue to live that life in a manner worthy of the sacrifices of the many friends, family, and strangers whose service has made it possible.

Yes, I am a civilian. But I know that I, too, have a duty, not to just utter words, but to live by them. Not to stand only when it is easy, but to stand when it is especially hard. A duty to be vigilant, active and brave, whether I wear the uniform or not. How can I do less, when so many are willing to do more?

To you, our veterans, I thank you. For your service, and for reminding me of my duty.

God bless you.

Beyond the Linguistics: Presupposition

Every now and then, I'll stumble across a fragment of an idea, a thought that if allowed to germinate fully would result in an epiphany of sorts, and not necessarily a welcome one at that. Often, I'll just jot it down and run away from the implications. Unwelcome does not in turn mean unhealthy, however, and so with that I'll offer up today's stray thought for dissection.

We all view the world through the lens of our own presuppositions. It does not mean we are wrong, but we should humbly acknowledge that we do, and that we may not necessarily be right.

You might be tempted to oversimplify this thought into: We all have our own worldview that shapes our perceptions of people and events. While certainly true, I believe the truth goes far deeper than we realize.

First, let's examine my choice of words. Per the oft-cited yet generally un-citable source called Wikipedia, a presupposition is "an implicit assumption about the world or background belief relating to an utterance whose truth is taken for granted in discourse." Why this word, and not "assumption" or "presumption"? Because these are merely derivations of the verb "to assume", meaning to take something for granted, a hypothesis, or to take liberties, if you will. I use "presupposition" (assume beforehand) because it serves to illuminate the unspoken context behind the things we say or the interpretation we apply to information we receive. Allow me to bypass the technical and philosophical discussion of the linguistics, in favor of a more base discussion that gets me closer to my point.

If I held the belief that everyone in Hollywood was a liberal and pushed liberal orthodoxy in their onscreen products, then it is a easy step to interpret everything I watch according to that presupposition, whether or not it is true. If I believe that by definition the Republican Party is extremist, then every utterance or position the Republicans take will be viewed through that prism.

Many of us consider ourselves to be objective, or at least committed to the attempt. But it is unlikely that we will ever truly be so, because the prejudices that color our perception can never be fully exorcised from the conscious or subconscious mind. When confronted with people or ideas that run counter to our own view, we instinctively react defensively or dismissively, never bothering to consider a worldview so counter to our own, all the while continuing our charade of objectivity.

It can happen even in the most benign of circumstances. Once your perception of a person is set, it is hard to see that same person any other way, no matter the evidence, potential or capability others might see. Then again, that same dynamic can allow you to see someone else in a far different light, even if their skills are identical to the former. Your presupposition can block your view from one angle as easily as it can enhance it in another.

My point, if there is one, is that we are far better off to acknowledge the presuppositions that shape our views of people and events. This doesn't mean we have to change them, but we would do well not to underestimate their influence on our thinking. Maybe then we'll see just a little bit more clearly.

Marching Fun From That College Band in Ohio

Today I was going to do a post about a tree (no, really), until I ran across the video below of the Ohio State University Marching Band. While I will always be partial to my alma mater, having marched with the Auburn University Marching Band for 3 years, even I can admit that the OSU band puts fun shows on the field now and then. So sit back, go full screen if you can, and enjoy the sounds and visuals of this Hollywood Blockbuster Show:

I Remember an America

I admit, I'm in a mood, and I'm busy, so there hasn't been much content here lately. I came across this song / video today though, and it kind of captures my feelings for the moment.

The song is called "I Remember An America" by Jerry Fagan. I've never heard of him before, but I am glad to have run across this song. It feels like a lament, and perhaps it is, but again, I'm in a mood. Sorry about that, but it is what it is.

September Sunrises

September is coming to a close, and with it comes a temporary end to a frenetic summer pace. Not that I will stop being busy, but hopefully the next few months will feature a somewhat more manageable level of stress. (Whether this allows for more writing remains to be seen). I do have a nugget, a seedling if you will, that I'm nurturing right now, thanks to a single word with a simple meaning that I picked up in a David McCullough essay on Frederic Remington, a famous painter and illustrator from the 19th century. The word is endion, an Algonquin word that simply means "the place where I live." This idea of endion has latched itself to my psyche; since I first read the word, there hasn't been a day that it has failed to enter my thoughts. What this means, I'm not sure, but I believe it will be worth allowing the notion to germinate a little longer. Endion.

The few quiet moments afforded me have taken form in the early morning, when I'm making lunch for the kids and waiting for them to get ready for school. September has offered some of the most lovely sunrises I've seen in years. Or maybe I'm just paying attention now. For those fleeting moments, there is a hushed and renewing peace. People wonder why I've been taking so many pictures from my deck. I can't help it, because each day brings a new vision of … endion. Oh, how I long to be able to put all these fragments of thoughts together! It is all connected, I know it! There is meaning here, if only for me. And if I can find the words, perhaps for you as well. For now, I'll just treasure the sunrise.

 

 

Far Out!

Voyager 1 has left the building.

Or rather, the heliosphere surrounding our solar system.

I first wrote about Voyager 1's travels this time last year, when NASA scientists speculated that the venerable old spacecraft was on the verge of passing beyond the heliosphere. Today comes the official news that yes, indeed, Voyager is going where no man has gone before:

The debate is over. The venerable Voyager 1 spacecraft has entered the uncharted territory of interstellar space.

A team led by Don Gurnett, a space physicist at the University of Iowa in Iowa City, reports compelling evidence that Voyager has exited the heliosphere, the Solar System’s protective bubble of charged particles. The findings, published online today in Science1, settle an argument that has raged among members of the Voyager team for more than a year.

“This is a milestone,” says Ed Stone, a physicist at the California Institute of Technology in Pasadena, who has been the project scientist for the Voyager 1 and 2 spacecraft since 1972, five years before their launch. Voyager 1’s entry into interstellar space “ranks with circumnavigating the globe and the first steps on the Moon,” says Stone, who was not involved in the latest study.

Forgive me, but I simply cannot help but to find this, fascinating.

Patriot Day 2013

May the memory of this day not be diminished or revised by friend or foe, but rather revered as one of those rare moments when we came together as a nation, as one people, under one banner. May the Lord have mercy on us, and continue by His grace alone to bless the United States of America.

Photo: Thomas E. Franklin/The Record/AP

Outmaneuvered

I've always thought there would come a day on this blog where I would regret - not something that I had written - but something that I had not written. I think that day may finally be at hand.

For the last several years, dating back into the presidency of George W. Bush, I've been collecting links to online material that taken in whole, chronicles the subtle and not-so-subtle maneuvers executed by Vladimir Putin both on the Russian domestic stage and the geopolitical stage. It's a fascinating look, really, but one I never felt fully comfortable writing, because of my lack of depth on foreign policy and strategy.

I've kept the powder dry with regard to politics lately. I've stayed away from Obamacare (starts in 3 weeks, you know). Benghazi still bothers me. Our various domestic scandals bother me. Now we have Syria. After Libya and Egypt, I can see nothing good coming from the U.S. getting involved in the Syrian civil war. I see so much of the current crisis as one of our own making. I find it hard to disagree with both the headline and content of this blog post in the Weekly Standard.

I cannot help but to think that we have made a cataclysmic error in our Middle East policy. But neither am I resigned to believe that Russia has fully ascended to role of patron benefactor to that region of the world. It may be true that America's role has been weakened, but that does not mean America has become weak. But it will take time, sound strategy, and better leadership to recover.

During the 2012 presidential campaign, Mitt Romney said that Russia remained the United States' #1 geopolitical foe. The media laughed at him. But he was right. The stage is set for an increasingly adversarial relationship between these two nations and their interests. What this portends for the future remains to be seen.

The maneuvering continues. Our leaders best have their wits about them.

Early Morning View

The peace that comes from moments like this never seems to last long enough. I need more of them.

Aw, Yeah ...

A couple of years ago, I started listening to big band stations available on the internet, reigniting my love of the musical genre most associated with crooners, old time swing and jazz greats, and early 20th century radio and movies. I usually listen in on Pandora, which gives me a heavy dose of Sinatra, Dorsey, Crosby, Satchmo, and "(fill in the blank) & His Orchestra". I find big band remarkably easy to work to when I need to get into the zone at my day job. It also tends to improve my mood.

Every now and then, though, I just have to lean back and marvel at the pure musical talent on display. As a former clarinetist, I have a strong affinity for pieces featuring Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw. Today, I just had to lean back and marvel at a more contemporary artist by the name of Eddie Daniels, in his rendition of "Sing, Sing, Sing". Below is an extended version that kept me in a toe-tappin', head-noddin' trance for about 7 minutes.


All I can say is "Aw, yeah …" Mm mm mm.

Deterring Dilution

Every now and then, I come across an article or a post that bruises my ego in a manner that seems uniquely designed to puncture whatever inflated notion I have of myself as a man. Or at least, the standard that I hold in my mind of what a man should be able to do. I've touched on this topic before, in a post reflecting on the aims of education and honest know-how. Today, a simple post asking "Do you change your own oil?" plunged me into a cistern of doubt about the example I set and whether I am doing enough to provide my boys with the essential skills they will need when at last they are on their own. From the post:

My generation might be the last generation of such men. The generalist has since given way to the specialist. I had a student at the time whose dad was a highly paid hydrologist. To hear it from his son the dad apparently didn't know the business end of a pitchfork from the handle. During parent-teacher days I started to make the acquaintance of the generation of men just behind me. When I suggested home projects they could do with their sons, I usually got a comment that dad simply lacked the requisite skill, not to mention the tools. Apparently, the under fifty crowd is more prone to call a tradesman than to pick up a hammer.

I can see this at work in my own family, across three generations. My dad worked in a garage as a teenager, and through all of my growing-up years, he did almost all of the major fix-it work and maintenance on our car. While I would watch and occasionally assist, it generally wasn't enough to fully develop the skills - in the manner that working in a garage as a mechanic would afford. That said, by the time I left for college, my skills were proficient enough to handle oil and filter changes, spark plugs, timing and a handful of other maintenance requirements on my car. I would do this well after college and into married life, but somewhere along the way I, too, turned the general maintenance over to someone else. Part of it had to do with the regulations involving fluid disposal - when service centers started charging me for disposing oil, I guess I just quit bothering. What can I pass on to my boys? Well, they know how to change a tire, even though they have only done it once. Deepening my chagrin is the knowledge that at their age, I could take apart and reassemble my bike with ease. I haven't even managed to replace their bikes from the storm yet, much less showed them what they need in order to maintain them. It's on my list, like so many other things, and yet the weeks flow by ever so quickly. If I can't pass on basic bike maintenance, I have no hope of passing down basic car maintenance.

I've been wrestling with this lately, as I look at several of the issues we have with the new house that by right, I could make the builder come and correct. Yet part of me rejects the thought of calling the builder out to correct minor mistakes or issues, because frankly I should be able to fix them myself. I'm 42 years old, and there are so many things I just don't know how to do. And yet this is not an excuse for not learning how to do them, or passing that knowledge down to my sons. But I need to be intentional - intentional about learning "manual" skills (in whatever discipline they may be) and involving my children in the learning. And maybe pass on a life lesson or two in the process.

Of course, it all comes back to time and opportunity. That is, I need to make time and create the opportunity. I do spend a fair amount of time with my boys. But our time together should be about more than just entertainment. It should also include equipping. Sigh. I have work to do. In so many ways and in so many areas. But I suspect that the effort alone will be worthwhile.

Four Miles

"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club." So said (purportedly) author Jack London. Having struggled recently to gin up any interest in writing, or rather, finding a subject that holds enough interest for me, I find myself wading into the kelp-filled waters of stagnancy. It is quite remarkable, really, for the only one remotely upset about this is me, and I'm not all that disturbed. For too long the browser has been my window to the world, and current events being what they are, I am compelled to retreat to another window offering a new view.

About six weeks ago, I decided to start running. I bought the shoes, the special socks and a GPS watch. In that time, I have logged over 26 miles across ten separate runs. This past Saturday, I hit a new milestone: 4.01 miles in 59:34 minutes. I can now run full quarter-mile stretches with walking breathers in between, and hit a personal best of just under 41 minutes on a 5K stretch. I even signed up for my first "official" race, just a few weeks away.

For most of my training, I have limited myself to the use of a quarter-mile track, mostly because the roads where I live just aren't that safe for running (no shoulders). But I'm finding it tiresome, this merry-go-round routine.

I got a late start Saturday morning, so by the time I arrived at the park, the walkers were out in force on the track. I decided then and there that it was time to shake things up a little. It was time to go after inspiration with a club.

People say that running clears the mind. So far, this has not been my experience. Rather, I simply find my thoughts redirected to my surroundings, the "pain" of the exercise, and the various mini-goals and landmarks that define the transitions between running and walking. I took my warm-up lap around the track, and then let loose across the parking lot, up the road and around the bend, down and around by the public pool, back up the road and around the bend and back to the track for another lap. I found myself stimulated by the simple act of spontaneously deciding to go "that way." So I did it again, but this time took off across the soccer field, back down by the pool, up to the road and then along the fence by the road until I found myself back above the track again. Another lap or two, followed by a cool-down turn, and before I knew it I had gone 4 miles and was feeling surprisingly well. I marveled at the feel of the different surfaces beneath my feet, the unrelenting asphalt, the crunch of gravel, the silence of the dew-drenched grass. I was less enamored by the squish in my toes, an all too obvious consequence of running through wet grass in breathable shoes, but even that sensation did nothing but heighten the experience of the run.

I don't believe I've yet reached the fabled "runner's high," but without question, breaking out of the merry-go-round routine was refreshing. Jack London was on to something. The run may not have cleared my mind, but perhaps it may have helped clear my vision.