Wonderful Breakfast

I stumbled upon a very interesting blog this morning. "Stumbled upon" may not be the way to put it. A post from the blog was the first link listed when I did a search on Google for "wonderful breakfast." The blog is called Hallucinations. It is written by an Indian woman by the name of Shruthi Rao. She lives in Bangalore, India. She is a "foodie." She is a gifted writer. She was featured (with an incorrect spelling of her name and other details about her misrepresented) in an article in The Hindu (page 1, page 2). Despite the paper's apparent inability to get all the facts straight, it's interesting to read an English-language paper from India; gives a different perspective on the world.

The image is linked from the article on The Hindu.

Later I may explain why I was looking up "wonderful breakfast."

The Pleasures of Pie

My fascination with pie, and the tendency to indulge that fascination, came upon me abruptly. I don't know the exact moment it happened, but I would say it occurred within the last four to six weeks. For reasons unknown to me, I have become moderately obsessed (say what?) with pie. Not all pie. Mincemeat, my favorite from my childhood, is no longer high on my list. And the pies shown in these images are not the kind over which I obsess. No, the pies with which I am profoundly fascinated are these: cherry, apple, pecan, and peach (not cobbler, pie!). There may be others, but I am not sure. Oh! I'm partial to rhubarb pie, too, though I've only had a few pieces in my life and none recently. So my affinity for rhubarb pie may be a function of memory playing tricks on me. I mean, I could have a piece right now and might loathe it. In fact, come to think of it, it may be a little too sweet for my taste. But then it may not be sweet at all. And since we're talking sweet here, is that not what pie is all about? I do not have much of a sweet tooth, though I tend not to turn up my nose at cookies and candy. But cake? I can do without it. Pie, though, is like nectar of the gods. Assuming, of course, that I am gods and it is my nectar (are my nectar? I mean, since we're talking plural here).

The pie in the top photo is a lemon pie, which was very good, but lemon pie and its cousins lack something I like: chewable substance. Lemon pie just fills my mouth with flavor. The crust adds a shade of substance, but not quite enough for my liking. I like a bit of "meat" to my pie. Which leads me, inexorably, to another favorite pie: steak and kidney. But that's another story. For me, "pie" immediately calls up something that goes extraordinarily well with coffee. Steak and kidney in a crust does not do that. But it's known as pie and I will not argue the point. But for the purposes of this treatise, I will ignore steak and kidney pie, if that's alright with you.

The bottom photo is a coconut pie, a coconut cream pie to be precise (if I am correct, which may not be the case). It was very good, too. While it also lacked the degree of substance that I enjoy, the little slivers of coconut gave me something to chew on, which satisfied my oral fixation a bit better than did the lemon pie. With the way I've been describing these two pieces of pie, you'd think I did not truly appreciate them. I did! I enjoyed them immensely! But they were not exceptional pies the way an apple can be. You know, an apple pie with firm chunks of apple that require your teeth to work a bit.

Back to my fascination with pie. It just took me by surprise. I have always enjoyed pie, but did not seek it out; I was satisfied to have a piece on rare occasions when someone else decided to buy or build one. But suddenly I am on a mission. When I drive by a funky little diner, I am just as likely to swerve into the parking lot with pie as my purpose as I am to check it out for what I call "diner food," which is a term I cannot define well so I will not try here, lest I go off course entirely and head in a direction not anticipated as I began writing this.

I do not know why pie is on my list of priorities of late. But it is. And when I think of pie, I cannot help but think of riding along with my father, as a kid (me, not him), on his trips to visit lumber yards around south Texas. He would stop and visit with the lumber yard owner and write up an order for a carload of lumber (my father was a lumber wholesaler) and then, as often as not, he would take me to a local diner for a piece of pie. We ate pie in several small towns in south Texas. Now I wonder if my recent excursions into pie-seeking is related to my recollections of my youth and my attempt to regain a foothold on memories long since lost. If that were the case, my fascination with pie could be a symptom of unresolved psychological issues or, perhaps, even some sort of psychosis the likes of which I have never faced before.

More likely, I think, I just like pie and have come to realize there's nothing inherently wrong with that. Except, of course, for the calories. I'll have to work on that.

West of Fort Worth

This was originally posted on September 1, 2008 on another blog that I created and subsequently ignored. Let's see if this looks the same:
If I were looking for a planned residential community, I might want to avoid this one. Of course I realize that there may be many other people who enjoy spending time with rattlesnakes. Obviously, the people who own the Brazos River Rattlesnake Ranch do.

If you have been looking for acid stains, here's a number to call.


The courthouse in Weatherford is an attractive place.

Here's one of two signs we saw on our outing today, advertising dance lessons.


We had lunch here today. In Thurber, Texas. It's a place called The New York Hill Restaurant. My favorite wife and I felt rather young; the clientele was, by and large, über-elderly..


My seat at lunch allowed me to watch dozens of hummingbirds feast at several feeders. When we went outside, though, it was tough to get close enough for a shot.

The other dance lesson sign. I am dangerous on the dance floor. Seriously. I could hurt someone. And I probably have.

Drab

It has been only a few days since the greyness of early winter descended upon us. Insistent winds have torn most of the yellow and brown leaves from the trees, blanketing the lawns and streets of our neighborhood with dull-colored rags ripped from the limbs above us.

I am surprised by how quickly the stark dullness of these early winter days has ground into my psyche. I am tired of the uncomfortable coolness and tired of the lack of sunshine and tired of the wet, sloppy streets. It is too cool for shirtsleeves and not cold enough for a heavy jacket. When the sun tries to peak out from the clouds, the dullness seems amplified and exaggerated.

The time has come for me to kick through the doldrums. It's early. There is too much more of this coming to permit myself to be smothered by it.

Personal Instruction

I arranged for web hosting for a domain name I secured a year or two ago, with the objective of creating a WordPress blog. The host allows "one-button installation" of WordPress, which I finally did. But I haven't a clue where to go from here. I have downloaded long and convoluted instructions that I simply cannot force myself to read. I need personal, hands-on, step-by-step instructions on how to get this rolling. I may be willing to provide room and board for my teacher. And maybe airfare. Meals, certainly.

Who will be the first to jump in and offer personal instruction?

No Smiling Where I Can See It.

Thanksgiving is done. It was good here. My brother and my niece joined us. It was good.

But tonight I am no longer happy.

Goddamn it.

Seriously. Why?

Get Over It

Arrogant, self-important pseudo-intellectuals annoy me. You probably know one or more of them. You know, someone who sneers at "authors" who don't see eye to eye with the "intellectual." Or, someone whose interpretations of poetic rectitude MUST be right.

So what? Other people annoy me, too. I'll get over it.

Explosive

I think I understand how people can, under pressure, become terrorists. They feel trapped and unable to control their own destinies. People and/or institutions around them behave badly and abuse them and others. Call it capitalism, self-absorption, or whatever you will, but being surrounded by intense and uncaring greed seems to set alight the fire under the pressure cooker. The only outlets are explosive eruptions, unless the perpetrators of binge-greed quickly back off. But they don't. Hence terrorism.

It may be different in different contexts. But I think I understand it to a great extent. Explosive rage let loose in unproductive ways. I believe I know it. I believe I've seen it. I believe I feel it.

Knowledge

I wonder if it's the same for everyone. You reach a point of understanding and appreciating the reality of one's mortality, which seems like such an extraordinarily grown-up accomplishment. But then, out of nowhere, you run head-on into the real world. The REALLY real world.

For reasons I cannot explain, I ran head-on into the real world. Suddenly, tonight, I became aware of my own mortality. Completely, fully, entirely aware. One day, years hence or just moments away, I will be dead. The switch will be flipped and, instantly, I will be no more. Other lives will go on. My won't. I won't be aware any longer. My existence will have ceased.

I wish I had words to explain this revelation. It's both frightening and freeing. I don't want to know this, but I do.

Am I experienced?

Today was too warm. The skies were too drearily overcast. The humidity was too high. I was in no mood for any of these discomforting excesses. What could be causing all of this ugliness on the day after I very nearly achieved freedom? Being an atheist of immense proportions, it would have been absurd to blame god. But having a seed of agnosticism lodged deep in my soul, I decided it couldn't hurt to consider the possibility that god was to blame. And so I expressed my displeasure.

"God," I said aloud as I drove my deeply unsatisfactory old pickup truck down the splashy boulevards of north Dallas, "this is bullshit! Just because you're an annoying crutch for people with belief in magic doesn't mean you have to punish those schmucks for my disbelief!"

"Son," a tinny voice responded, "you give yourself too much credit. You matter to me about as much as I matter to you. I don't care. The cycle of weather is one I can set and forget. You get what's programmed. Don't assume for a second I'm punishing anyone. You're not worth the ashes of my cigar."

With that, god stepped out of the truck and, with a sharp glance at my right front tire, caused it to go flat.

"Donkey!" I called after him. It was a necessary linguist bomb.

And the next phase is...

Certified letter to XO Customer Care: Check

Copy sent to interim CEO of XO: Check

Copy sent to Exec. VP of XO: Check

Keys returned to office building management: Check

Mail now being forwarded to PO box: ALARM--Forwarding order still not being followed

Old garage refrigerator disposed of: ALARM--Nothing done yet

Mind off of business: ALARM--Emails keep coming

This afternoon, I spent a while looking at all the boxes of crap we brought home from the office. They're stacked everywhere. We have to reduce those boxes to sheets.

And I spent time considering how to reorganize my garage...and what I need to do around the house to get it in the shape I want it to be in. That's more like it. Until I realize I need money to do what I want to do and I no longer have any income. Screw it. I'll do it anyway and figure out a way to make some money to cover the costs.

Tomorrow, if the mood strikes us, we'll hit the road for a day trip. Or maybe not. There's nothing saying we have to do anything.

This will take some getting used to.

Attempted Mellowism

Though there is still more than a bit to be done, we celebrated a little today as if it were behind us. It is, mostly. All that's left is turning in the keys, doing a walkthrough, and giving building management the address to which we, by god, expect them to mail our deposit. So, after I sold 500 pounds of scrap paper to a recycler for $19, we went to lunch at Del's Charcoal Burger. Del's is a tiny dive of a place that looks like it was built out of scraps. And I think it was. I love it. And they have the best root beer in the universe. We had a good, leisurely afternoon.

But it's not all done. There's the telephone crap. XO Communications, which I personally consider the lowest form of corporate rapist, told me today they will charge me for a month beyond November 7 because they claim that's when I told them to shut off my phone lines. Right. I told them in August to kill my account on October 31. But they could not port lines over by then (they claim), so they kept my lines alive. Now, they say they have 30 days after the termination notice to charge me. I didn't put it in writing, but what I told them, essentially, was to go fuck themselves and to expect to be sued if they screwed with me. I went into a bit of a rage as I explained to my wife how I planned to be involved in some form of corporate castration if those assholes played with me. And I vowed NEVER to pay them for another month. Of course now I have to somehow cancel the automatic withdrawals from my corporate credit card. Aha! Just cancel the card! Well, tomorrow I will send the bastards a certified letter informing them that any attempt to take unauthorized money from my account will be considered theft and will be treated as such. Bastards!

But that sort of stuff was supposed to stop on October 31! I know, it won't. It just won't. So I have to mellow and deal with things as they come. I'm very seriously considering something that I think everyone else should consider as well: DO NOT ENTER INTO CONTRACTS BINDING YOU TO A COMPANY FOR ANY PERIOD, FOR ANY REASON! Seriously, if a company providing a service (telephone, television access, electricity, etc., etc.) must have a contract binding you to the company, something's amiss. Consider it a signal that the company is not worthy of any form of commitment, because its requirement that you sign a commitment to receive its service is a very bad omen. The company is NOT to be trusted.

See, it's going to take me some time to mellow. But I will. I want to. I must.

Relax...eventually

Sprains. Bruises. Broken nails. Scrapes. I suppose they're all deserved. It was my decision, after all, to shut things down. It never occurred to me that I'd have to sell all this crap...or give it away...and then help move it.

I'm worn out. Truly worn out. I need some rest. Not yet, though. Give me another couple of days, then I'll relax.

Release

The business of closing things down is grueling and far more time-consuming than I ever dreamed it would be. My expectations that we'd sell our furnishings quickly and easily for a reasonable amount of money were dashed. Reality took its toll on my wishes and dreams. Time will tell, but my expectation now is that we'll probably have to give away most of what's left, which is a significant amount, and will have to pay someone to cart off the dregs.

I was surprised that the Salvation Army, Goodwill, and other such organizations have no interest at all in office furnishings. And even the place that will take used furniture and re-sell it does not guarantee it will take everything; only the things it judges of interest to its prospective customers. Charities simply do not want our file cabinets, desks, old computers, etc. We are having a hell of a had time finding schools, churches, or anyone else to take them. We may well have to pay to have it all carted off. Damn it!

Such is life. So I don't bring much money in. That's alright. We'll just adapt and adjust and get the hell out of Dodge! I am so anxious to get away and decompress! That's hard, though, when you consider real life. Even though we're fortunate to be able to last a year without income, we know the future will require me to work...to make a living. I hope I haven't thrown it all away with this odd step I'm taking. And I learned last night that the husband of a friend had died unexpectedly. One moment, things are tolerable, the next the world explodes into incoherent and chaotic horror. Yet another reason to reach out and take what we want from this world!

There's so much more inside me right now, but I don't have the energy or the words to release it.

Comfort?

Plans don't necessarily transmogrify into realties based on those plans. Maybe they never evolve in quite the way we expect, or hope, they will. Perhaps plans are idiotic responses to wishes...wishes we could control our destinies.

I don't pretend to know, though I have my opinions.

Tears don't necessarily transmogrify into appreciations of what we've experienced in our lives.

I don't pretend to know why they erupt. Some of my friends will offer callous comments about them. Why don't friends understand? Why don't they appreciate that comfort is all we're asking?

Bourbon

Maybe it's better. Or maybe I'm getting used to the flames.

Or, perhaps, it's just the fact that I've given up and recognize that, no matter how much effort I put forth, it's just too late now.

A glass of bourbon, filled to the brim, would help this situation.

Just Bad

One day after my post about watching Buddha on PBS. One day after thinking I may finally have achieved some semblance of balance in my ability to deal with the world. Just one day.

In that one day, I've devolved into the lowest level ever. I have been a bastard these last 18 hours or so. Feeling badly about my behavior and my inability to be even remotely civil is insufficient.

I suppose that insufficiency is why I couldn't sleep. I've been up since 1:00 am. It's now more than two hours later and I am very tired, but don't want to sleep. I want to rewind the last 18 hours and remake them into something better, something less painful for the people around me. Especially my wife, who doesn't deserve what she's been listening to from me.

Buddha

It's interesting. I walked in the door this evening after a bitch of a day, long hours and lots of stress, to find The Buddha on PBS. I've watched it before, but never the full program...still haven't.

I say it's interesting because I was in the mood to complain, curse, and generally be snarly. But I got caught up in The Buddha instead. My snarly, cursing self could not coexist with that program. So I cooled a bit.

Was it my recognition that my anger and upset are useless in the face of reality? Was it that I understood the teaching that anger is the less attractive face of compassion? Was it that I was ashamed to be so obviously self-centered and self-pitying that I simply had to chill?

Don't know. Don't care. I am in another mood, and that's good. I'm trying to find the beauty in this moment. And I've found amazement and beauty in looking at my hands and saying to myself: "They are amazing. How could such things come to be?"

It's not conceit or self-love that brings that out, either.

Neighborly Neighbors

I would like to be more neighborly. You know, helpful, available, and friendly. I would like the same of my neighbors. And so when a neighbor calls out to me as I walk out to my mailbox to check the day's mail, I gladly approach him in the hope of engaging in a neighborly conversation. I am a slow learner.

Generally speaking, when that neighborly conversation takes place my hopes and expectations are dashed. Instead of a pleasant conversation about something that matters, it usually degrades into a gripe session about my inability to control the acorns that fall from my tree and an implied question: "What are you going to do about that tree?" Or an attempt to rally me to the cause of forcing another neighbor to move a van that has been parked in a driveway for "too long." Not long ago, it was an attempt to have me join a petition to block plans to bring east-west light rail trains through my neighborhood. To be fair, that last one was not an attempt to completely block the plan; it was an attempt to shield the neighborhood from the riff-raff and noise that surely would come from the route as planned.

Yesterday, my next-door neighbor flagged me down as I approached my mailbox, once again I allowed myself to be hopeful. This time, it paid off. Not in spades, mind you, but the conversation did not degrade into a platform for complaints. He told me he had put out traps within the last few days to catch "something" that had been bothering him. I didn't get details of the bother, but it was "something." He caught two possums. He called animal control to come get them, which they did. While they were here, my neighbor mentioned to them that he had seen a coyote and watched it cross the street from my yard to a neighbor's driveway, where it sat and stared at him for a few moments before wandering off behind the across-the-street neighbor's house. And he told them he'd heard there have been sightings of bobcats in the area.

These things, these sightings of wild animals, concerned him. He has a litter of several small children so I can understand his concern...a little. But he keeps the beasts inside his home for the most part and does not let them wander the neighborhood, so I doubt he has anything to worry about. What impressed me was the fact that he called animal control services instead of bludgeoning the possums to death. I like that in a person.

Back to being neighborly. My wife has an idea she plans to pursue after her retirement in a few weeks. It may help establish a more neighborly connection with our neighbors. Her idea is to have a "happy hour" every Friday afternoon when we're in town, to which she will invite neighbors and friends. All they need to bring is themselves and, if they wish, some snacks to share. She will make happy hour drinks. Each week will be something different. One week she might make mojitos, the next it might be sloe gin fizzes, the next it could be just a glass of white wine. She has a vague idea of "theming" the events so the drinks coordinate with the season or the nearest holiday or something like that.

I hope it works. I hope our neighbors come out and we develop some good, neighborly relationships.

If we discover that none of our neighbors drink alcohol on religious grounds, we're moving!

Ethiopian: The Real Deal

The taxi driver who took me from DFW airport to my house is from Ethiopia. He moved to the States about 15 years ago. He's married. He has been back to Ethiopia within the last year. He returns periodically to visit family. He's from the western part of the country, from place called (I believe...I didn't write it down) Jima.

All of this information came after I asked him where he was from, originally, and after I then proceeded to tell him how much I love gored-gored and kitfo and zilzil tibs and awaze spices and...you get the idea, I went on and one.

We spoke about his favorite Ethiopian restaurant in the Dallas area, Ghion. I've not been there, but on his recommendation I will.

I asked him about a dish I saw served and eaten as another Ethiopian restaurant where my wife and I have eaten a few times, Lalibela. I described the dish as a huge chunk of raw meat that was placed in the middle of a table where four men sat. Each man was given a HUGE knife and they proceeded to slice off big slabs of the beef and dip it into sauces of some kind and eat it. It looked like it was just up my alley, since I truly love raw beef.

He knew instantly what I was describing. He said it was something called tire siga. It is simply a chunk of very good beef from which pieces are sliced off, picked up in a piece of torn injera, and dipped in a spicy berbere sauce (though I swear my taxi driver said "dada," but I may have mis-heard...online it's berbere. From what I've read online, the traditional tire siga is camel meat, which is a bit hard to come by here, and it's also dipped in lemon juice in addition to berbere. I may have to go to Ethiopia to find the real thing.

Soon!

Today, the day before I leave for my final major client event in advance of shutting my company's doors (well, not entirely, but that's another story), I walked almost 10 miles before 8:00 am.

Actually, it was 9.73 miles, a record for me, shattering the record I sent yesterday at 7.62 miles. It's unusual for me to have sufficient energy to go for a very long walk two days in a row. Not to mention the oddity of being physically capable...generally, a very long walk leaves my legs very sore and my joints angry and unwilling to flex much. After today's walk, they (my muscles and joints) are expressing their outrage at my brazen attempts to get them to do my bidding.

Acchh. It will get better.

Tomorrow, Monday, I am off to Atlanta for several days of board meetings, educational sessions, social events, and deeply serious conversations about "the transition." That is, the transition to new management. This particular client has hired what appears to be a very, very capable company that's much larger than mine, has much more advanced technology, and is quite probably far more capable than I of moving the client's agenda ahead. It's a little depressing to think all I needed was more money to hire more capable people and I, too, could be more advanced. Well, all I needed was more money and more gumption.

Water under the bridge now, though. I am anxious to get the contracts DONE so I can then dispose of furniture and equipment, clean out the offices, set up new phone service (the business will continue to operate, albeit mostly on a virtual basis), etc. And THEN, the fun begins!

ROAD TRIPS! Where shall I go first? I don't know. Probably a few short jaunts inside Texas, first, then a few longer ones to nearby states. But soon, very soon, I expect to see a LOT of this country, and possible some others. I've fallen in love with a tiny snippet of information about a place in British Columbia called Smithers. I do not have a good reason. I just found information about it and liked it. Maybe the Spring will find me there. Or in Boston. Or Portland. Or Seattle. Or San Diego. Or San Francisco. Or Lenexa, Kansas. Or Marysville, TN. You get the picture, yes?

Nerves

In just 18 days, I'll have no more clients. No more income. No more responsibility for trying to herd cats. There is no doubt I will miss certain elements of it. The cat-herding is not one I'll miss, though.

But I'm getting a little nervous. I don't know exactly what about, but something is making me nervous. Maybe that no income thing.

So what? I've created a business before from nothing. If I had to do it, I could do it again.

Experience

How is it that we, the collective "we," think we have wisdom to share? We reach a milestone birthday or a milestone event and we seem to decide that simple chronological marker imparts wisdom. Why is that?

It's my position that wisdom does not accompany time nor experience. Wisdom accompanies the proper interpretation of experience. And even then the interpretation must be made in the proper context of life experience. In the end, it's quite subjective and not likely to be reproducible in the real world. So we all live our lives, using an unreliable model as our guide, a model that is transformed by experience and circumstance.

We all live a lie of one kind or another.

And that, my friend, makes me cry. And I can't stop.

Jobs

Yesterday's news, and today's, was the death of Steven Jobs. The majority of what I read today about his death was in tribute to the man and his legacy, but there were a few people who either despised him for some reason or were annoyed that his death upset their expectations of what they'd find in traditional and social media. The latter group of people are, in my view, truly selfish and bathed in deep self-appreciation; the death of an icon does NOT, in their view, merit interrupting their routine. I have absolutely nothing but disdain for such attitudes.

I read a transcript, and viewed a video, of Jobs' 2005 commencement address at Stanford. It was low-key, understated, and brilliant. It made me think about my life. Steve Jobs was a brilliant and very observant man.

Facebookery

I'm toying with the idea of allowing Facebook to languish in its thirst for useless change while I return to blogging more frequently. My comments won't be seen by as many people, but I suspect most people who see my comments now don't find them particularly enlightening or interesting. I can be boring right here on Blogger.

It's not that I can't adapt to change. I can and I do and I really welcome change. But when change appears to be made for its own sake and, in the process, reduces the utility and attractiveness of a product, I rebel. Maybe I'll get over it. Maybe not. In the overall scheme of things, my reaction to Facebook isn't all that important. But we'll see whether it's important enough to me to let Facebook go on its merry way without my regular presence.

Walkery and Things

I woke up a bit earlier than usual this morning, around a quarter to five. On weekdays, I try to walk two to three miles early in the morning, but I put more demands on myself on weekends. On a typical Saturday, I would wait until around six o'clock to get going, but today I opted to get right into it. So, just before five, I set out for what I told myself would be a minimum of four miles.

It has been awhile since I went north on my morning walks, so I decided to inject a little change into my morning routine and headed north.

Despite the fact that I've been taking morning walks for quite some time, I'm never quite "up" for them. It might be different if they were leisurely strolls, but they're not. I push myself, though not too hard, to start with and keep up a pretty brisk pace, almost always 15 minutes per mile or better; that's four miles or more per hour. By the time I'm ten or fifteen minutes into the walk, though, I fee much better about it and am glad I pushed through the doubt about whether I really wanted to go out.

Most mornings I stay on low-traffic residential streets or on one of the nearby hike-bike trails, but today I spent the majority of my time on fairly busy main arteries, though at the early hour of my walks there's not a great deal of traffic. The one big difference, though, is that the critters I often seen on less-traveled streets are largely missing when I hit the main roads. No bunnies, no raccoons, no possums scampering across the street. Just the occasional car or caravan of cars, plus a walker or runner every now an again.

This morning, I saw a runner I've seen on many previous walks. As usual, this young, thin, closely-shaven-headed guy who runs carrying a light pack on his back did not acknowledge me when we passed going in opposite directions. I always acknowledge other walkers and runners and bicyclists but often am disappointed that they do not return the greeting. I wonder if they are so deeply into a meditative routine that they either choose not to interact with others or are oblivious to others around them.

At any rate, this guy followed his pattern of staring straight ahead and not acknowledging my wave and "good morning!" as we passed. A short while later, though, as I was walking against traffic, closely hugging to the curb, I heard a loud voice right behind me. I was not expecting it and was startled by it. I had my headphones on and was listening to "World Cafe," so I was admittedly a bit distracted, but I keep the volume low so I can hear vehicles and people nearby. I did not quite understand what he said, but later decided he must have said "on your right" as he was about to pass me. When I heard that loud sound, though, I twisted around quickly and saw him (the same closely-shaven-headed guy who had been running the other direction earlier) and said something like "Oh! You startled me!" He said, at about the same time and just as he passed by, "I'm sorry I scared you." It woke me out of my distracted state and probably increased my heart-rate by a good fifty percent.

As I continued on my way, I began thinking about all the people I see while out on my walks. Rarely do they seem very friendly as we pass by one another. I try to smile and wave and say "good morning" whenever I pass, but rarely do I get a reciprocal attitude. While the guy with the backpack may be in his Zen state, the guy strolling along at a leisurely pace, looking at the sky and the trees and the birds, probably isn't. Nor is the woman walking her dogs. Or the chatty women walking together. Most of them, if they acknowledge me at all, seem nervous and suspicious.

I wonder why. I wonder how they would react if I asked them to stop and talk to me. "I'm writing an article on interacting on the exercise trail and wonder if you'd have a word with me?" Would I be rejected?

I may find out. I may not.

Cleansing...Will a Year Do It?

The time is approaching, apace, when I will no longer be obliged to lie about business. No longer will I be required to advocate for business models I abhor, pimp for marketing strategies I find personally offensive, and prevaricate in the name of business development.

This may be a good thing. Or it may be an opportunity for me to look inward and realize what a prostitute I have been for virtually all of my professional life.

As I recall, the first time I was expected to be the mouthpiece for a cause I found offensive was just before the enactment of the Americans with Disabilities Act. The organization for which I worked at the time was petrified by the ADA. Its members felt like they were being targeted. They felt like the "disabled" were asking for too much and unwilling to pay for what they asked. They felt like they were being asked...no, required...to spend money to make their places of business accessible without any reasonable justification for the requirement. After all, they reasoned, people in wheelchairs or people who were deaf and needed sign interpreters were unlikely to visit their places of business. Why spend money on accommodations when there was no one to accommodate?

Of course there was no one to accommodate. Absent accommodations, the people who really needed the accommodations weren't likely to be there, were they? And if they would come AFTER the ADA, it would only be to serve as needlers to the members I was representing.

Had I been blessed with balls and a strong sense of morality and personal responsibility, I would have fought the directive to defend members' positions. But I was ball-less and amoral. It was my job. I had to defend my employer. In hindsight, and in shame, I can say with conviction: "Bullshit!"

It didn't stop there, though. Aside from opposing ADA and arguing that the law was making too many unfunded demands, I argued that individuals who worked long hours for a single company doing the company's bidding should NOT be treated as employees. No, they should be classified as independent contractors because they agreed to be classified in that fashion when they were "engaged" by the business. No matter that they were bound to stay with home-bound people for 24 hours or 48 hours or more at a stretch, and no matter that their contracts provided that they would be paid only for 8 hours of work at a "contractor" rate within any 25 hour period. No, I was asked to...and I did...defend companies that didn't want the tax and administrative and insurance burden of employees. I was a peach, wasn't I? My morality was unmatched.

Looking back, I see hundreds of examples of abandoning my own principles and morals and sense of decency in favor of my employers' expectations. On those few occasions in which I argued as forcefully as I felt I could that my employers' positions were morally corrupt (even when I didn't use or suggest such terms), I was dismissed. "What's he gonna do, quit?" That's what the boards must have thought. If I had even a slim, brittle backbone, that's exactly what I would have done.

How can I make up for an entire life lived on the underside of morality? As much as I might want to do it, I don't know that I can.

The question is whether I can continue to live with the acknowledgement of my inability to made suitable amends to the world around me.

Maybe a year, more or less, on the road will allow me to clear my conscience. I guess we'll soon see.

Burdens

Tonight, I watched The Other Side of the Border, a documentary produced by the local PBS affiliate, KERA. It told the story of a number of people who have long been forced to fight the realities of their "undocumented status" and what that status means to them, to their families, and to their futures. My emotions are fragile after watching that program because I really feel for the people whose troubles were profiled, but for much more, as well.

It troubles me that the program was produced in 1987. Nothing has improved. NOTHING! If anything, the people whose lives are turned into poker hands due to bureaucratic lunacy and capitalistic racism and greed on steroids are facing WORSE conditions today. Does no one really give a fuck what happens to these people? Are they really, truly on their own? Does our economic system really just drink their blood and throw their corpses on the stinking pile to be carried off by carrion-eating governmental policy wonks and corporate greed-feasters?

I wonder what burdens people carry? Does anyone feel guilt at putting families into an unending cycle of poverty? Does anyone care that children are being guaranteed futures of illiteracy, poverty, and fear?

Today, just for today, I'm on the edge of wanting my connection with humanity to end. I feel right now that I don't want to be associated with the filth that masquerades as humanity. I assume this shall pass...but it will be a temporary lull in an otherwise loathsome state.

Today's Thoughts

A friend of mine posted a link on her Facebook page yesterday; I found it quite interesting. Surprisingly, the link is to a blog written by a minister in an Indiana church, a church affiliated with American Baptist Churches and the Church of Christ. Anyone who knows me as the heathen I am might wonder what I could admire about a sermon. Let me tell you.

While the Christian platform upon which the post was based is at odds with my own beliefs (or lack thereof, I should say), I found the writer's comments to be rooted deeply in "truth" as I believe it to be (which is to say "humanity," but outside the religious framework).

I did not post any "blather" about 9/11 yesterday, but I'm posting this today because it struck a chord with me. In response to another friend who expressed appreciation that I did not post any such "blather" yesterday, I said "If I had chosen to write about September 11, it would not have been required reading. If someone decides to mark the anniversary of something meaningful or painful by putting up blather, so be it."

Unlike many people, who deliberately chose not to watch or listen to any of the ceremeonial tributes to the 9/11 attacks, I watched and listened to more than one. I found some of what I watched and heard profoundly moving. I do not consider all the victims of those attacks to be "heroes," but I do consider the events of that horrific day worth recalling. The arguments made in the blog linked above that I found particularly appealing were those that acknowledged our own responsibilities, as a country, for our role in a global maelstorm. This, in particular, appealed to me:

When presented with an opportunity for humility, an opportunity to turn the other cheek and respond with lovingkindness, we as a people did not do so. When presented with an opportunity to look seriously at our shortcomings as players on the global stage and reconsider our historic methods of coercion, we as a people did not do so.

Instead, we have spent the better part of ten years responding from a place of fear and intolerance. We have waged wars that have not made us safer. We have said things that cannot be unsaid.

In short, we have dug ourselves further and further into debt. We have shamed ourselves.

Oh, by the way, another piece about 9/11 I watched yesterday intrigued me. It was a short (about 11 minute) video about the "boatlift" of people from lower Manhattan that day. According to the video, the boatlift was the largest water evacuation of people in human history, dwarfing the Dunkirk evacuation.

So, there you have just a sampling of where my thoughts about 9/11 were yesterday.

Just 2 Months

Time is moving at the speed of light. Just 2 more months and I'll be unemployed, with no income and no prospects for any. I'm trying not to panic, but it's not easy. There are so many things I want to do, write, experience, see, discuss. But I feel like I'm ADD in a big way. I hope that disappears; I cannot afford to bounce from idea to idea without taking any action on any of them. I cannot even write. Ugh.