I see you

So, yes, I turned 50 this last week.

The thing is (and everyone says something like this) I feel like a kid inside. I mean, at the risk of being too vulnerable, I have the same insecurities, the same marvels, even some of the same social constructs I had as a kid. This, of course, makes me wonder...

Does that all important public leader still feel (like I do sometimes) that he is just fooling everyone, that he's not really all that important or empowered? This happens to me sometimes in every role from teacher to parent, from good citizen being wrongfully pulled over to man moving peers to be better servant-leaders. Underneath it all, I'm still wondering if they like my kewl shirt, man.

Does that intimidating clerk, that authoritative banker, that omniscient doctor, that brilliant researcher--fret over whether people like them? Do such people fuss with their smile in the mirror and get all anxious over a little zit? Do they try to hide farts? Do they fantasize they are Indiana Jones?

Sometimes (just for a split second) I think I can see through the veneer, the mask, and identify the wee person inside who is just as sensitive as my pre-teen self. We are on opposite sides of a big desk, both of us suited in our meet-the-attorney fatigues, both of us frowning just-so at the paperwork between us...but I catch a glimpse of a kid who loved Spaghetti-O's and comic books and racing a bicycle through puddles. I see a wounded spirit just wanting to be good pals, if only we didn't have to work and pay bills and pretend to be all grown up. On the inside he's saying, "I think you're hair's cool." On the outside, tapping his pen on the foreclosure forms, raising a practiced eyebrow, he's saying, "The confluence of your amortization matrix suggests imminent capitulation of all fiscal holdings."

I just want to say, "I see you. I have a frog in my pocket. I like girls because they taste like cotton candy."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Cotton Candy!

What's in there?

I seem to be bristling with pseudo-psychology and paranormal poop lately--must be a sign of old age. Then again, it could be my listening habits. This morning on early morning AM radio, I heard a person talking about Jungian psychology and a well-documented line of thinking I'd never entertained before. In that broadcast they were describing young children who accurately reported images and icons that they had never been exposed to. These kids had seen such things in their dreams, then analysts had recorded descriptions from the children (even sketches) of hieroglyphics, runes, petrographic phenomena, even mathematical symbology. The theory is that we have a collective conscious that spans generations. We are all subject to these thoughts-not-ours, but children are less likely to be blinded by limited thinking, thus making them more receptive and more likely to remember the stuff of dreams.

I wonder, when my kids have tried to tell me things, what's happening in the old noggin. I think they are trying to find ways to connect with me, so they may be telling me more of what I respond to, less of what I never acknowledge in life (dust bunnies, for instance, are present, but never a major topic of discussion). I wonder what all they are seeing and remembering and picking up on in general that they have no schema to communicate. It's sad because all that may get left in the dust as their little brains are bombarded with commerce and otherwise as they scramble to be accepted into the 'norm.'

I do a lot of outside thinking, and I am commonly struggling for the words or associations to communicate what I'm wanting to share. I've seen this a good deal in my kids, too, as they are searching for words or ways to express. I've marveled at it when they are at a peak of emotion (sadly, usually wrath) and I try to get them to articulate just what they are experiencing. Maybe this not-yet-words-for-it syndrome I see in my kids is partly due to a stream of content that is never finding traction in the western world we are residing in. They cannot tell me about their encounter with a sphinx because they do not have any way to articulate it. Hmmmmm.

I wish we could get a mind tap that worked without cultural bias. Like portrayed in so many bad '70's movies, it would be a device that showed the imagery of dreams and deep sub-consciousness. I'd really like that!

Maybe that's what poetry can do?

Old writing

A few weeks ago, I pulled out a ream of stuff I'd written in grade school and high school. It was not your standard fare, essays and assignments, but it was a good sampling of creative writing I'd churned out back in the day. It was nothing spectacular, no evidence of being a child prodigy or anything, but it had something...some level of confidence that I really was going to be a writer or something. Oh, to be young again, to not know too much about the publishing world or the stiff competition, to never doubt yourself, to dream big...

I had that file out to share with my kids, to inspire them to write down the stories and ideas that they have just oozing from every pore right now. (I was also hoping that writing would help them with their horrific penmanship, but they saw through my guise.)

I still find some nuggets in my old writing, whether it's from grade school or just last year's blog post. I surprise myself all too often, say to myself, "humph, I didn't know I could write that!" I wonder if anyone else is impressed with Themselves Past, like I tend to be? I don't think much of the present person now blogging, but when I review his work years later, it's got potential, man.

Chance?

Most of the time, I am on the fence on all things supernatural. So much can be explained away. I know many of my friends and family are so very faith-based they find even this commentary offensive, and to them, I apologize.

However, take heart! I have been more aware recently of situations coming up that are just too spot-on to be coincidental. These are generally some sort of collective conscience, some group think, that then manifests itself in reality. I am very raw on this right now, I admit, and I'm going to do much better at documenting these as they roll up in my life. I'll also give some attention to the official terminology for such things as time/interest allow.

Here's just one, from today. I was enjoying a donut today, at the Donut Whole in Wichita, talking with my lovely wife about a former student who had worked at the establishment some time back. I was idly curious as to her well-being, wondering if she had continued writing songs and poetry. Well, whaddya know, unbeknown to me, she'd written to me 15 hours prior to my musings, asking how I'd been, if I could recommend any good poets, telling me all about her current creative writing class at KU. That's just bizarre, and that's just one of what seems to be a weekly happening in my life/times. I know its small and seemingly inconsequential, but it was startling to me.

Another: a little over a month ago, we were chatting and wishing Kyle and his wife (Kyle, my former little brother from Big Bros/Sisters, since then one of my best friends) would move back to Kansas. Within the week, we received word that, indeed, they ARE moving back, within this quarter!

Chance?

I don't think so.

I'm going to re-tune my instrument to more and more positive thoughts and manifest some more goodness.

Way to go...

It's 4am and I'm up with a biological issue (nuff said).

My faithful beagle is at my side. If I were blind, I'd still know, for he's NOISY.

Roger is 8, and he's never had a full complement of lung capacity (one doc said he was working on just 1/2 of his lungs, the other collapsed and never to restore). He was born into this, and he's always coped.

However, in the winter, in particular, he has a horrible hacking cough that's complemented by some gross mucus excretions. I think he has a horrible infection in his respiratory system. One vet gave us some pills but that dog's so smart he will NOT ingest them (and for his size, he's quite the fighter).

I wish I could get a fix, for sometimes he will get on a coughing/hacking fit that lasts thirty minutes. Some nights he's panting, gurgling, etc. all night long. I've seen him sleep through some days after nights like that. Poor guy.

It does bring up another question worth entertaining: how would you like to die? My kids asked me this yesterday, and I said: suddenly. That's an easy answer, but it's not too complete.

I know that I would NOT want to cough to death, like my poor beagle. I would not want to die of dysentery. I don't want to be a nuisance when I'm dying (hospital, home care, etc.) I would rather die in any of these ways than on-the-job, unless it meant better payoff for insurance.

My dad died in his sleep, but that would rob me of any famous last word opportunity.

I'd say I'd like to die in my wife's arms, but that seems burdensome and unpleasant for her.

Good ways to go:

1. traveling
2. doing something heroic
3. on good terms
   

....I thought I'd have more....I dunno. NOT eating a heart attack hamburger.

Just one food?

I've told my family and friends that variety in food is not important to me. Usually this comes up when I am feeding the beagle, and I note that, like him, I could eat exactly the same kibble every day for the rest of my life, for to me, food is just sustenance.

This raises the question, however, of just what one food I might want to eat every day for the rest of my days...

If there were no digestive/nutritional issues, this is an interesting question, indeed.

I love a good steak. If it's properly grilled, just the right cut....well, I think I could eat my weight in steak. Just writing about it makes my mouth water. Then again, if it were an everyday food, would I soon tire of it?

Mashed potatoes seem to me like manna from heaven. I especially crave the twice baked potatoes my wife makes with a little cream, butter, garlic...mmmmmmmmmmmm. Hungry.

I did not think of myself as a meat and potatoes man until I started this entry.

I could live on Sugar Crisp cereal. That's a certainty. I would eat it every morning if I could, even now.

I could likely eat anything at all, if it were piled high with Cool Whip.

I just cannot decide, but I think perhaps the almost perfect food would be watermelon. I just might try that this summer!

10 days ago

A lot can happen in 10 days. In my world, it seems my kids can grow an inch in that amount of time. They can move from utter innocence to stupifying awareness in just 10 days.

In KS, of course, one can have all the seasons of the year in the span of just 10 days. In my last entry, ten days ago, it was raining. Just these last two days, it's been snowing and freezing. Who knows what the next 10 will hold--maybe I'll get a sunburn.

We cycle through a graduation, Valentine's day, and two birthdays w/n this 10 day period.

Surprisingly, my count down clock for the term tells me it's only 2 months and 28 days until grades are due again--and it seems I've just met this semester's students!

Maybe more than any other unit of measure, I can note growth and change by keeping an eye on our puppy. She's grown exponentially since we adopted her in July. Amazing.

Growth and change.

Airn

I used to work for a guy who had a speech impediment. Words that started with "r" for us, did not for him. This usually tripped him up most at the beginning of a sentence:

Can you run to the store? = simple enough to say
Run right over there. = NOT something he could auh-r-angle

--not that any of that is relevant, but he was a farmer, so we talked a lot about a'irn.

Just this last couple of days, we've received an official, welcomed two inches of precipitation! EVERYONE in my realm has been writing about the rain, but I thought I'd let it soak in a bit before I tried to write my ode to it.

I'd forgotten how a fresh rain makes it seem so much like spring. I'd taken for granted the calming effect the sound of falling rain has on me. I'd not paid much attention to the way rain runs off tree trunks, nor how run-off from a field can really tear through a dike or berm. At my place, a fairly flat plat of land, the water just stood and said, "Hey-a!" The whole property, well, the west 1/2 of it, anyway, where my house is, looked like a lake. I had to put down pallets to get to the chicken coop. All the jokes people make about my pirate ship ("he he, you're ready, you know, like Noah, if ever there's a flood") seemed not so out-there anymore.

I wish it were snow. Whenever I say this aloud, people stare daggers at me. Really, though, this rain is beautiful, soothing, all that---but it's too much too fast. Snow would have blanketed things a while, gradually melted into the soil rather than beer-bonging it. (I've never entertained using "beer-bong" as a verb before, and it didn't really work, but....you get a vivid picture, so I'm running with it.) This rain is a wild one-nighter, while the snow would have been more like going steady.

Now, I am all for fun and excess (I am an American, after all) but when it comes to my precipitation, I like it slow. Like my food and my dancing.