Reflections

*sap alert*

It's the end of October, a time of year my Trick or Treat bag is stuffed with jawbreakers, deal-busters, heart ache and mirror-shattering reflection. Irrevocable errors happened here, this date in history, events occurred in haunted houses now bull-dozed away (some of them literally).

Death haunts me in this season, when I feel the chill in the air and curse the ice to be scraped, when I mourn the loss of leaves and stare bleakly at the cold gray days—I remember vividly the last heart-to-heart I had with my late father. I return to that ghastly first Thanksgiving without him, and the funeral just days later. It’s the time of year things happen for a reason: rediscovering the ring my uncle pulled from my dad’s dead fingers and put into my palm, finding an old file box with journal entries from that first year without him. I feel the cold indifference and harsh wind of western Kansas, always pushing against me.

I revisited the campus and office and mentor of SLC, these three letters meaningless to any reader, though forever emblazoned on my soul. It was Service Learning Central, a cause I mistakenly gave my very life’s blood for a decade. I had no life to speak of, and I drove so many people so hard it’s a wonder I have any friends from that era. We did many great things, but the motive is always dubious in my memory and the blinding zeal I once had for it will never return. (Here, anyone who endured that with me is happy!)

It was bizarre to be back in that place at this time, almost five years since I left. I was working early in the morning on the first day of Thanksgiving break when a sheriff called me in the office to give me the bad news about my father. From there it was a whirlwind of decisions, of doors closing, of leaving and moving and mourning not only my loss of my father but also the shattering of my spiritual compass, my driving force. I was without rudder, without a soul it seemed, for the better part of a year.

To stand again in my old office, the birthplace of many great ideas, the forge which burned white hot so often with enthusiasm unbounded…to be me, now, unplugged, in that place that had once been more my home than my house…it was so very odd. I was just in an office, an old paneled and painted humble basement office. Very little of the original furnishings, photos, etc. remained—just enough to bring back a resonance I was not too sure I wanted to feel. I was all at once haunted, then relieved. My wife and three kids were with me there, and I was quickly able to distance myself from myself, to regain my traction and healthy perspective that I’ve worked at for these last few years.

The end of October also screams shrilly of the end of the semester, a time one should be relieved, a time to enjoy some vacation time. I tend (typically) to balloon up with regret and sorrow. I begin, about now, to miss the students I’ve just come to know. I start listing, last week in fact, my many shortcomings this fall that I would like to improve upon for next term (late return of work, not enough emphasis on textbook…). At the turn of the year, I do this same thing with my own self improvement inventory.

I know it’s football season, that it’s the time of scarecrows and bonfires and pumpkin carving fun. I love the color, the crispness, the upcoming Turkey feast! I like nesting for the winter some, not having to mow for a few months. I even like the challenge of getting from point A to point B in the snow, against the elements. Hopefully, whenever I am in the shadow of all the darker memories of this season I can find a focus to celebrate now and then.

Otherwise, it’s pretty grim!

' Verse

We may have lost the battle...okay, even the war...but you STILL can't take the sky from me. You can't even take my patriotism away. Like it or not, thousands of veterans pressed for this monument, our last stand, oddly enough a place I'd never visit (but love to know is there).

I could so easily get drawn into RPG's. Long ago, there was a little game we played on the big floppies called ZORG. It required one to have several disks on hand, to swap them out on command. It was purely a monochromatic screen with interactive text, but it wowed me at the time. I worked my way through a series of levels of that game, and had it not been for a computer failure, I might still be at it to this day--absorbing.

I do not know what it is that makes one so susceptible to such gaming, where one takes on a persona, lives and breathes in-character. Maybe it's a sort of frustrated acting urge. Maybe it's some dissatisfaction with real life (RL). In my case, it isn't either.

I think in my case it's that I like fiction. I really like being immersed in a good read, and for me, one step further is being interactive with a fiction. That's likely what the springboard has been that's stimulated my interest in Virtual Worlds, namely, currently, Second Life.

I am going to do some research on this whole thing, from RPG's to VW's overall.

Meanwhile, an update: I have now discovered how troubling it can be when one's avatar goes bad. Well, it was no one's doing but my own, of course, but it seems my avatar is forever changed. I was tinkering with various "looks" and now cannot return (without a great deal of rework and time) to his look of over a year. (I should have saved his likeness in-world, in my inventory, I now know.) Anyway, I'd read of how people became attached to their avatars, how they even developed relationships of a kind with them. When one finds too much of his/her identity in a cartoon (as my skeptical friends call them)likeness, something is, indeed, amiss. I would not say that I am mourning Gawain's lost appearance, but I am disturbed by it. This, too, would be a great area to research and report on: self-image and avatars.

For now, I will close with a thought (redundant for anyone who is a regular reader, I fear, or anyone who is a meatspace friend) on corporate greed. I have a deep, abiding dislike for corporate ownership, franchising, branding, naming...the works. I wish everything were mom and pop operations.

How refreshing to encounter, say, variations in our food at fast food restaurants. How great it would be to stumble upon the unexpected gem among greasy spoon cafes. I love to do this, but I am always out-voted in my family; they favor eating food in paper wrappings in a laminated environment that is likely cleaned with a garden hose.

Already advertising creeps into our every pore and pixel, and that is the first wave of corporate branding. Already some parents whore out their children to be branded by major corporations, models of theirs, sponsored by x, y, z company. The exchange is that the kid wears company gear, talks the company talk, etc. Already space launches have been sponsored by corporations--space, the final frontier! Space above countries is "owned" you know, and there are already lawyers who work exclusively on issues of air space and space law.

Some companies are so vast we are not commonly aware of them. They have ownership and market controls of everything from food products to auto parts, from pencils to porn (I'm just speculating on the porn). Altria, PepsiCo, Sony...

In my 'verse, there's an even bigger corporate presence, Blue Sun.

Music--so Interesting!

I thought I had a good grasp of music, that I knew what I liked, until I began twiddling around with online tools that give me free access like Seeqpod and now Pandora. I've used iTunes and LastFM and LimeWire for various purposes, and I have surfed my way into some very interesting music at such spots...but Pandora, part of the "Music Genome Project" is my favorite musical tool online. Through it, I have found bone-wracking interest in Ska, some Punk, and a broad variety of Electronica that I would never have paid for upfront w/o a listen.

Right now I'm listening to LostProphets and Reel Big Fish. Earlier, I was on my own channel for Irish instrumental music of Tempest and Runrig. First thing this morning, I started the day with some interesting "surf revival" music from my friends, "Man-or Astroman." and Hellecasters.

I've quadrupled my musical horizons, if one could measure such a thing, in just a few months. I've made some very unique playlists, and if only I had time, there's a great deal I'd like to do with some of the music I've discovered, from using it for podcast sound beds to making overlapping mixes and such...even to just do something artistic (shadowbox, sculpt in clay, weld) to some of this music would be very liberating and fun!

The radio is so boring by comparison.

What is it?

I'm mechanical, and I like this site, "What is it?"
I frequent the site and am constantly challenged. See what you think!

The Jag-Wolves Pack

Grass growing high,
Vultures laying low.
Wolves laying on their left side;
Jaguars laying on their right side.
Footprints washing away
Rain swooping down with hail.
Bears hibernating.
Dingoes off for their evening fish hike.
Lions off for their evening dingo talk.
Tigers off for their talk about the city.
Cheetahs talking with alligators about the tiger plan.

A poem by Jaxson Jarvis, age 5

CLICK

I've written of this repeatedly, so I guess it's a theme now. I so wish I could stop time, like in the movie, Click. I was just recalling a special effect of the Matrix series, in which one could zoom 360 around an action scene slowed to a stop...I wish I could do that.

Ever been in a car wreck? There is a moment of, "Oh, boy!" when you tend to know you're wrecking, when your car is upside down or your head's penetrating the windshield--and you stop time then.

A car wreck also leaves me with that terrible feeling that things are out of control, that I cannot reverse course now but must instead ride it out. Things are churning, chaotic, and chitty.

Such is this moment in my life, when everything from personal finances to national elections seems out of control. It's a time when I am away from my family so much it grieves my soul (even though I'm with them far more than most fathers get to be).

I am on a gut-wrenching merry-go-round, and I'm about to puke.

Usually, I'm pretty handy at fixing things. That's just it. Give me a plugged up toilet or a dead car, and I'm ready to go to work. Give me my personal life, and I don't even know where to begin. I need a therapist with some really innovative approaches to fix this broken machine, someone like MacGyver...

Haunting

YESTERDAY, my family made scarecrows. It was a great bonding experience, though we did have meltdowns, feuds, and some discussion over artistic license. Just as I was warming up, seeing scarecrow potential in everything from rakes to scoop shovels, trunk lids to tomato stands--we were done. (I made another one, later that day, just because!)

There is something in me that seeks expression in the crafting of beings--not my kids, here--scarecrows, sandsculptures, effigies, stick people...I do not know why this is a tendency I have. I don't remember anything profound from my childhood.

Deeper, I also find I am very good at crafting "scares" for others. This has some roots in April Fool's pranks, but it goes farther and farther from center. I operated a haunted house for two or three years, giving MONTHS of my life to its success. It consumed me. I was part of something large-scale scary, so much so that I could not tour my own haunt w/o screaming like a little girl. I was engaged in online chats with the operators of haunts in St. Louis, Salt Lake City, and on the outskirts of Hollywood. I toured a factory in Greeley, Colorado, makers of those life-like, life-sized creepy robotic things. We literally bought out a haunted house in Topeka, and 8 of us and a semi-tractor trailer hauled it back and adapted it to our purposes.

Now, for any new readers, I am not into the occult nor black arts. I don't even like Black Sabbath. (I don't even like the color black, if you really care.) There were no pentagrams nor strange worship services at our haunt.

A pinnacle, however, was the larger-than-life Grim Reaper we crafted. It was shockingly realistic (though, how could a mythic figure be realistic?). I hope I still have photos of it somewhere.

Building scarecrows reminded me of building that Grim Reaper. I could populate my whole 11 acres with such things and invite the public, but I don't think my family would like it much.

I still don't know why it gives me such a charge.

There be monsters...

I waffle on this, for to acknowledge anything beyond flesh and into the supernatural opens opportunity and responsibility to reckon with all things ethereal. While I have been at the deep end of the pool on this before, of late I've been treading water.

That said, I find the theory that kids see into this beyond to be a very engaging theory, one that I have had a good deal of exposure to and one that my kids evidence regularly (without being prompted, coached, educated, etc. in this).

My wife chronicles this often in her blog. One kid or another over the years has sighted, had conversations with, is afraid of...someone who is not tangibly present. I'm not writing of your typical "imaginary friend" here, but someone who can cause a boy to stop in his tracks and wet himself in fear. These are the invisible visitors that may make a five year old (or a toddler) weep, cling to a parent, etc.

Sure, they have been inclined to put blame on these "ghosts" for their own misbehavior at times, and (even though we do our best to regard their notices of visitors as just another conversation) they might have mentioned a hobgoblin for attention sometime or another. All three do have very vivid imaginations and all three do have (readily acknowledged) imaginary friends and episodes of monologues (and dialogues) which would lead any outside observer to question their their perceptions of reality if not their sanity.

But none of their imaginary friends, Nobody, Jeff, etc...even the one legged man with the hat--none of these regular "folk" cause the reactions that other, more sinister apparitions seem to.

Many argue that we limit our perceptions as we grow older. It is said that this is vital to our coping with all the sensory overload we increasingly-encounter. We also are very responsive to social conditioning that tells us what is real and true, what is accepted behavior (even observation). We are beaten over the head with, "That's just pretend" and "You're making that up," and other conditioning that (so they say) numbs us to potential supernatural perception.

I intend to make this an object of study beyond my own kids. I wonder if most young children have such sightings. I want to find out! Meanwhile, we continue to listen to our kids express themselves (with as little judgement, coercion, etc... as we can) to better understand what it is they may see that we cannot.

An ignorant voice on the Bail Out

See the title? I admit I know virtually nothing about this. Established? Good.

I do know that when politicians and the media begin shifting semantics and spinning euphemisms that it is time to be wary. What began as a bailout has become a rescue plan. By the time it is signed, sealed and delivered, it will likely be further blurred to "The Financial Support" law or something equally non-descript.

I do know that when farmers were going through bankruptcy there was no bail out from the feds. Any good farmer would have rejected it anyway, on principle, but too many of us had already sold out our principles to the FHA to stay in business. Remember farmers, those folk who feed you? Not some sneely, squirmy, white collar criminals shuffling paper all day.

I know that, under whatever pretense, once the government "owns" most business, industry, enterprise, etc...that we're in deep dip. All we need now is some charismatic hero to raise the homeland to new heights. Then all the predictions of my professor regarding fascism shall come to pass in my lifetime, as he would daily rant to us over 20 years ago.

I know that I am not yet at the point of self-sufficiency, self-reliance and self-defense that I need to be. I may have seeds, arms, skills, etc...but dependants in my household are also drug dependent. We have no stockpile of fuel (well, wood I guess).

Which, while I'm ranting, gets me to dependency in general. I have shaken the chains of tobacco and television. I gave up culinary delights and would just-as-soon eat cornbread every day for the rest of my life. (mmmmmm....cornbread!) I have escaped a prescription mood enhancing drug (...the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention looked at 2.4 billion drugs prescribed in visits to doctors and hospitals in 2005. Of those, 118 million were for antidepressants.) I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be for financial ruination. Bring down the grid. Let weeds grow in the cracks of our highways. Let freedom ring...oh, but...what about my Internet. I can't live without that!

Stop the press and let me vote. I'll not be without my Internet!

This, I think, models what we need to do for all of voting age. Drill down. (Not like JMc and Palin, per se.) Drill down to what matters to people, whether it's the daily fix of Dr. Phil or the constant contact of a cell phone. Whether it's (gov't supported) Meals on Wheels or (gov't dependent) school sports. Wherever it hurts, we must touch with some catalytic vigor to drive all the sheep to the polls.

Even if they're ignorant, like me.

Sensitivity Training

In its original context alone, this phrase "sensitivity training" is interesting. It is used to help people better relate/identify with people who are differently abled. In my former life as a volunteer coordinator, we would host sensitivity training events in which able-bodied students would don gear to simulate disabilities, everything from visual impairment to numbed limbs. It was a 'walk a mile in my shoes' object lesson, and it was potent. We also had a campaign in which we would get ahold of a dozen wheelchairs and spend the day trying to navigate town/campus from that vantage point--VERY eye-opening. We reflected not only on the challenges, but also on the way we were treated differently by others.

Sensitivity training could also be offered between spouses. Usually one thinks of the insensitive male, though my wife accuses me of crying at movies (a blasted lie, I say).

It's really kind of silly trying to amp up one's sensitivity. At the physical level, I've heard it can be done temporarily with various substances abused in entertaining fashions. I know, too, that when one gets a burn or chips a tooth, they become more sensitive at this physical level. I've even participated in some meditative exercises that brought sensation to my heightened attention.

HOWEVER, what I'm writing about is my personal need to be more sensitive to my own children. Last night proved this out fully. First, we live in the country and do not have anyone in a cul de sac or otherwise on our land/in our driveway unless they have reason to be there. Unsolicited, as we had a visitor last night, leads us to cracking open the armory, as we did last night. A loud vehicle pulled into our driveway (as too damn many do to turn around) and did NOT beat a hasty retreat. The headlights poured into our family room. People reacted differently. Roger (beagle) howled. Some of us joked around coarsely. One actually did secure arms. The surprising thing was the reaction of our 20 month old. He ran to his aunt and clutched her, his heart pounding. He would not be put down for a 1/2 hour. He then would stand at the window and look out with great anxiety for the longest time....and he can't even talk about it. Poor kid. He absorbed everyone else's varied angst and amplified it for himself. He is very empathetic.

Child number two will cry big crocodile tears and be wounded of spirit if you nag, poke fun, sometimes even mention or question him wetting his pants.

Child number one, last night, had his own thermonuclear meltdown. We watched "America's Got Talent" this season (sorry, I must confess this most embarrassing truth). He had a chosen favorite that made it to the final two...but when the "piano man" lost out to the opera singer--WOW! My son flopped out of his chair, rolled on the floor, cried until he could not breathe nor speak, got very worked up in bowels and generally contorted his whole person into a hateful, vengeful anger. I mean, c'mon son, it's only a game show. He would NOT be consoled. He would NOT listen to reason. He was mad.

It's very interesting (and often alarming) to see raw emotion, absorbed emotion, and other such things coming unvarnished from my kids. Such an interesting study. I do not mean to take their emotions lightly, and I do not intend to objectively study them like lab monkeys--I'm just saying, it's outright fascinating.

I'm glad, after these recent exposures (and in spite of what I said a few entries back) that adults harness back some of this emotive blast.

Entropy

The sky is falling.

Online Etymology Dictionary
entropy

1868, from Ger. Entropie "measure of the disorder of a system," coined 1865 (on analogy of Ger. Energie) by physicist Rudolph Clausius (1822-1888) from Gk. entropia "a turning toward," from en- "in" + trope "a turning" (see trope).

American Heritage Dictionary
entropy
4. The tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.
5. Inevitable and steady deterioration of a system or society

It truly seems to me (yes, even me, the eternal optimist!)that we are at a nexus, a crossroad, a point of no return--something big here, anyway. I don't know what to call it, and I don't have ample evidence for anything, but I feel it. Don't you?

The stock market is more volitile than it has been in history. We're spending more as a nation and in debt more as individuals than ever before. We have bizarre doings in abundance in politics, global inequities, and general unrest.

At the same time, we have a population of sheep that is inclined toward "inert uniformity" locked in the doldrums of television and a pop culture that's lost its poop.

This is an uneasy time to be a parent. It makes one sometimes regret those moments of reproductive rhapsody, for what have conceived and borne must bear out this strange new world, and we (parents) are too-soon going to leave them to it, to fend for themselves.

Hell, it's an uneasy time to be anyone. If I were only a pet owner, I'd have misgivings about what my poor beagle was to be subjected to in his 12 years.

Students must have a terrible time sleeping at night, for they are less insulated from/more immersed in the wild New World. Apparently, they have grown up with it and have a degree of immunity or deniability, for they cope amazingly well with pressures of the media, of peer groups, of the economy that won't let them enjoy childhood, let alone their college years.

Too much pressure. I just wonder how long it can all endure w/out some collapse and restructuring...and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, that would actually be a good thing.