Month: January 2017

Longings

I hate myself on days like this.

I confess, I have longings.

Some are very simple and basic. Many will claim them as impractical and idealistic, even absurd.

Like, I have longings to be young again, and to have a nice cup of coffee with a pastry or donuts without worries about its healthiness or origins, longings to walk around, preferably on a warm, pleasant beach, smiling and nodding in friendliness to other people, who simply nod and smile back in friendliness.

I have longings for success, comfort, happiness, fun, and security in all its forms.

I have longings for freedom, equality, liberty and justice.

I’ll bet those longings are shared with many others.

I bet many people on the right and left share these longings.

I bet many politicians and CEOs share these longings, along with teachers, minorities, refugees, shoppers, consumers, teenagers, the elderly, the rich and the poor.

The nut is in the details of how we get satisfy these longings.

When the United States was founded, it was another step as part of a long walk to satisfy these longings, and the founders walked on the backs of many others. We’re shocked, angry and dismayed by their declaration that all men are created equal even while they were stealing land others already lived upon, deciding women are less deserving, and so are people who were slaves, because slaves were slaves; they were property. That was a compromise. A good one? Hell, no, I hear some shout. We’re still arguing it. It was a different era, with different values, views and principles.

I have sisters and friends who wish the protests going on in the U.S. to be over because, well, the elections are over, and isn’t that what this is all about? They have longings for a happier, more relaxed life.

But the protests and elections are part of a process. Both are symptoms of desires and larger arguments about what is right and wrong, and whether freedom, liberty and equality is even possible for everyone. Aren’t we humans simply animals at the heart of the matter, and shouldn’t it be that the strongest shall rule and take what is theirs by right of strength and power, whether it’s physical or intellectual prowess, military force, or the power of our gods?

These are arguments about longings and principles, perceptions, hopes, dreams, emotions and frustrations, resentments, hostilities and dreams that go back to separations derived from where we live, what we speak, our differences and similarities, all the way back to the most basic and fundamental questions of why we’re here, how we came to be here, and what we want to become.

I hate myself on days like this because I have longings. I want to go write. I want to enjoy my comfortable routine of writing fiction, dreaming of breaking out, working toward the horizon that I’ve created for myself to keep myself going while staving off bitterness, weariness and depression.

Some will read this and remark to their screens to me through their screen, you are a self-indulgent idiot.

I can’t argue that I’m not. I know too well the limits of my talents, intelligence and abilities. I tell myself that if I try harder and persist, promising myself, “I can do better,” and that, if I do, I can overcome my shortcomings.

Which is what these longings are all about, really. You understand.

And I hate myself on days like this, because others have longings, and I think of myself as one person but part of a larger body trying to make a difference. So I set aside my personal longings to take up the longings of others, those longings that were there long before I was born as an American, and march for what we believe is right against an agenda that we believe is wrong.

History will not judge us. History is written by the winners. It’ll be the winners who judge us. If we lose, we’ll probably be forgotten. Hell, if we win, we’ll probably be forgotten as well.

That’s the nature of being part of a larger longing.

2

Today’s Theme Music

My CD collection is a decent size. It’s amusing to talk about these things in the days of iPods and streaming music via iPhones and smartphones. I have two CD players; one is a Sony turntable style that houses two hundred CDs. It’s full. It plugs into a six CD Bose speaker that’s part of my home theater. Then I have another couple hundred CDs stacked and shelved inside the cabinets. The CDs replaced the cassettes, eight tracks, reels, and thirty-three and forty-five RPM records. Being an organized person, the CD collection on the is alphabetized, although blues, Christmas and symphony collections have their own sections. I have a print out of an Excel spreadsheet that tells me where a particular CD is located in the Sony turntable.

Today’s music comes from an album over thirty years old. It came out while I was stationed in Europe. I developed an immediate and long-lasting infatuation with it. It ended up joining albums from Who, Pink Floyd, Rolling Stones, Stevie Wonder and Bob Dylan, among many others, as one I can listen to again and again. It’s part of the Sony CD turntable. It’s CD number 98, part of section four. The album is not for everyone but that’s the nature of music, isn’t it? One person’s joy revolts and disgusts another.

Here is ‘Where the Streets Have No Name’, from ‘The Joshua Tree’ album by U2, 1987.

0

Aftermath

I arrived at the coffee shop. Only two tables were available. I grabbed one. An outlet wasn’t available but that would be okay. I could type until my battery cried uncle and then plug in or pack up.

Meanwhile, I launched into writing and editing. It was like working a loom, adding sentences, going back and changing some, back and forth, back and forth. Then, yes, boom – I checked and confirmed, the battery was getting low. As I noted the low level and wondered why I hadn’t been notified, the computer issued its low battery warning.

A dilemma loomed. Stop for the day or keep going? I’d completed sixteen hundred words, a decent day when including the editing aspect. But I felt there was more in me. I didn’t want to push but I did’t want to let it go.

So I scoped the cafe. Tables with outlets were available. I made the move and continued.

Glad I did. I didn’t expect the changes in the story arcs that took place. The characters again understand the story better than me. I thought the road through the forest I followed was clear about its path but somewhere amidst the turns, I ended up taking a sharp right that delivered me onto a new path. I ended up where I didn’t expect, yet, it completely and perfectly fit into what was supposed to be happening with the story.

It was like mental sleight of hand. “How…?” I asked myself.

I didn’t know; it’s not where I expected to be. Yet the character hadn’t jacked the novel; I was still going toward the same climax, but on a different path.

Then I worried. If I took what the characters clearly saw as the correct path, was it too damn predictable? Would readers be disappointed?

I don’t know. I think I’m too deep into the forest of words and activity to assess and understand. Just go with the flow and finish the novel.

And now, time to stop. It turned out to be one of those finest kinds of writing sessions, when you’re not an outsider typing up dictation, but a participant hiding out with the characters, furtively looking over their shoulders and listening, and writing like mad.

0

It Gets Exciting

I’ve been struggling with Handley, which is uncharacteristic of me. In a key scene, a pirate vessel, the CSC Narwhal is going after the stasis ship, the River Styx. I knew the scenes, having visited them in my head, writing some aspects in my mind. I’d been looking forward to writing the scenes because I knew what a keystone scene they were to the novel’s arch. Yet, they suddenly fell through a hole in my brain in the last three days. I’d bring the doc up to write once, twice, thrice, and then wrote or edited other scenes and chapters.

Yesterday, I’d had enough. I spent several minutes castigating myself. Has to be done, you idiot. Just write it, I told myself. Suspecting I was worried about how it would go or that I was overthinking it, I told the writer, just fucking do it. Get it done.

I began just writing the essence of what was supposed to be happening. It’s been so long since I’d struggled to write as I did then. The process felt like I was plucking eyebrow hairs.* My God, those were clumsy, awkward, lifeless sentences. The writing was so dense and abstract, and not in an interesting Kafka way. After sipping coffee, I walked away, shaking my head at myself, appalled by the moribund words on the screen. Then, deep breath, try again.

Thank God the cafe  was almost empty and nobody was near me. I’d hate to have to apologize to others for the awful smell that the shit on the screen was surely exuding.

Work it, work it, work it. Ever shape model clay or work bread? Felt exactly like that. This was a lump. I kept kneading the scene, trying to form something out of it. After twenty to thirty minutes of this, the scene suddenly became emerging from the material. After an hour, two hours plus into the writing session, I had two pages written.

That was all.

But it was enough. Showering and shaving today, I envisioned the rest of the scene and the chapter’s subsequent scenes. They grew alive in my mind. I became eager to write. I hurried through feeding cats, harvesting potatoes from the litter box, cleaning up in the kitchen, and getting ready to leave. Consumed by the mind writing, I forgot to put my Fitbit back on after my shower, misplaced my glasses and vacillated about what walking shoes to wear. My focus was too far into the novel.

But here I am, quad shot mocha with fine latte art by Meghan at hand, at the coffee shop, ready to rock.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more damn time.

 

*NOTE: Yes, I have plucked my eyebrows, or tweezed them, if you prefer. Once upon a time, I was said to resemble a smaller version of Tom Selleck when he was doing ‘Magnum, P.I.’ If you recall him from then, he had a uni-brow going on; so did I, and my wife convinced me to pluck it because she was certain Tom Selleck plucked his.

Yeah, that was long ago.

4

Today’s Theme Music

Today’s song is another one of those heard while racing around the SF Bay area on the work-shop-errands-eat-sleep-repeat treadmill. Interested in words and unfamiliar with the artist, I kept listening for it and searching for information about her. Of course, this was around 2005. Google and other search engines were strong. They were less about shopping and marketing and more about getting information back then.

I’d already learned the singer-songwriter was Scottish and that this was her debut. Eventually, I found more about the lyrics and then discovered her comments about them.

She said, “’Black Horse’ is inspired by old blues, Nashville psycho hillbillies & hazy memories,” says KT. “It tells the story of finding yourself lost on your path, and a choice has to be made. It’s about gambling, fate, listening to your heart, and having the strength to fight the darkness that’s always willing to carry you off.”

Ah. I get that from the song. Hope you do, too. Here is KT Tunstall with ‘Black Horse & the Cherry Tree’. 

0

Food Trip

Winter has worn me down. I feel it in my palate. Snow has dissipated, the ice has faded and the temperatures are rising. (We’ve seen over fifty degrees Fahrenheit two days in a row!)

A little town fever is settling in. Town fever is just like cabin fever. It’s a sensation that you just got to do something different. The walls are slowly collapsing. The ceiling is sinking and beginning to crush me. And yes, I know the town has no physical ceiling, but it’s this sense grabs you that, “OMG help me I’m gonna go nuts where can we go to get the hell away from our routines and tedium now now NOW?” 

freedom-mel-gibson

I began simply, thinking, Grants Pass is just forty-five minutes away by speedy auto. We can go there, do a little strolling about, eat somewhere – wasn’t there a new place recently opened?

But I’ve been to Grants Pass not long ago. It’s a nice city but not the balm for this itch. My move floated toward Eugene! 

Eugene, just about three hours away and three hours back, is doable. We’ve done it a few times every year, just a little escape to shop, walk around, and…you know…eat somewhere different than our usual Ashland haunts. Mind you, Ashland has good food, and we can escape to Talent, Phoenix, Medford and even Jacksonville to find some relief.

But this is a mad, mad itch. Corvallis would be even better than Eugene. Or Bend! 

Oh, Bend. Now we’re talking. Bend is a more difficult day trip. Though the snow has diminished here in the valley, getting to Bend will probably require us to traverse some snow and ice. But there are so many great places in Bend, places like Next Level Burger.

nlb

Hmmm…burger. Cheeseburger, with a beer and fries. Deschutes Brewery is located in Bend.

mirrorpond_new

Oh, yes.

That would scratch my winter itch.

1

The Guest Appearance

I’m a fan of the sitcom, ‘The Big Bang Theory’. I haven’t seen them all, partly because I thought the show lost some of its earlier luster, but I still catch re-runs once in a while. Still, I was surprised when Sheldon, Leonard and the rest appeared in my dream last night.

I was primarily interacting with Leonard, played by Johnny Galecki. We were at school, he as Leonard, me as me, working on science experiments. We were working close together, that is, our lab stations were close by one another, and we were talking about our projects. My work was secret; I never saw it and I didn’t explain it. His work…well, I don’t understand it now. I understood it in my dream but it’s a different matter once I cracked my eyes apart for daylight.

I do remember, though, that we lined up with our experiments on a polished floor like the one we had in high school. We were ‘on our marks’. I was at the front of the line with Leonard. Then we moved forward to a judging area. Then, I remember telling Leonard, “Your experiment is incomplete. Based on what you’re saying, you would need to do the experiment at least one more time to verify your proof.” As Leonard, frowning and squinting, was thinking that over, Raj, Sheldon and Howard all pondered my comment. Then, one by one, Raj, Sheldon and Howard agreed, “He’s right, buddy.” This displeased Leonard. He thought he was done. Shoulders slumping, he said, “Oh, nuts.”

And that basically, was the dream. It makes me laugh, recalling it now. It seems so silly.

2

Sunshine Blogger Award

I love winning something out of the blue, especially when it comes from someone admiring or appreciating what you’re putting out there. Thank you, Mel Hopkins! I enjoy her blog, and the attitude she exhibits through her words. Please check her out.

This sort of thing takes me out of my comfort zone, so it’s taken me a few days to respond. I prefer not to have attention. I know, it’s odd for someone who writes and posts things on the net to also like privacy and anonymity. It’s all as clear as mud mixed with sand and oil to me. Disclaimer aside, here we.

Here are the rules:

·         Post the award on your blog

·         Thank the person who nominated you

·         Answer the 11 questions they sent you

·         Pick another 11 bloggers (and let them know they are nominated!)

·         Give them 11 questions

I have to admit, when dealing with eleven questions, I kept flashing back to ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ and the Bridge of Death.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cV0tCphFMr8

 

Mel presented us with eleven questions about travel. Here are the questions she posed, and my answers.

  1. How many countries have you visited in this lifetime?

Twenty-two.

  1. What is your favorite country? Why?

I can’t choose a favorite country any more than I can select a favorite book, food or piece of music. My desire for each and appreciation for them shift with my moods. I’d need to visit each a few more times to gather more information. If I had to say today, I would say, Wales, because I’ve never been there.

  1. What is your favorite travel haunt?

Such a difficult question. I lived in Half Moon Bay and remain partial to it, with the amazing food opportunities, its delightful downtown and great ocean scenes, so I will declare Kelly Beach in Half Moon Bay, with a good book, a San Benito House deli sandwich, and cookies from HMB bakery.

  1. In your travels, what is the oddest tourist attraction you’ve seen?

Well…that would be the Dick Bar.

Yes, we were crass but we were military and this was around 1989. This was a bar high on a mountain in Sicily. It was a gorgeous location, with views of Roman amphitheater and fort ruins, Mount Etna, and the tip of Italy’s boot.

We called it the Dick Bar because phallic systems were everywhere – walls, as décor on tables, for sale in glass cases…did I mention the walls? The phallic symbols were made of stone, granite, wood, marzipan. Walking up the steps was a challenge because an erect phallic symbol stuck out from the wall on each step. The steps, with a high riser and narrow tread, would’ve been a sufficient challenge without worrying about getting a pecker in the ear.

It was a great place. We sat out on the roof drinking Italian red vino for several hours, until the owner cut us off for fear of one of us falling down the steps.

  1. How many states, (or provinces, territories) have you visited in your home country?

Thirty-three, that I can remember. To be fair, I traveled by car often, so some of these were merely rest stops or visits to scenic overlooks.

  1. What was your favorite travel destination in 2016?

The ocean, whatever ocean I can find, wherever I find it.

  1. Where will you travel to in 2017?

Plans are on hold due to personal issues. We want to take a train from Vancouver, BC, to Quebec City. Our fingers are crossed that we’ll be able to pursue this, or take one of the tours offered by Roads Scholars.

  1. What’s your favorite transportation mode of travel?  Planes, trains, automobiles, bikes, motor home, cruise ships?

Car. Traveling by car has a romance and freedom I experienced when driving with my parents across the country.

  1. Do you prefer physical adventure travel such as hiking, camping, mountain climbing or relaxing by the pool or beach?

I like reading by the beach, preferably with a glass of wine or a pint of beer.

  1. Hot or cold weather travels?

Give me warm weather, please.

  1. How far have you traveled from your home base?

Well, my home base shifted around the United States and the world throughout my life. The longest travel done in one day was from southern West Virginia to St Louis, MO, and on to Okinawa, Japan, by way of Alaska, via car and aircraft.

Now, I must nominate eleven bloggers and notify them. 

Hmmmm…. This is the toughest part of the entire exercise. So many deserving bloggers out there. I also tried eliminating previous winners.

Thomas Weaver at North of Andover

JR Handley

Elizabeth Rose

Ed Lehming at Ed Lehming Photography

Marcus at Survivor Road

Daniel Kay at This is Youth

Gigi at Rethinking Life

Kecia at Muninn’s Memories

Kent Wayne at Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha

Jenn Moss at Rough and Ready Fiction

And now…their questions:

  1. If there is one food you can eat every day, what would it be?
  1. What’s your favorite libation?
  1. What’s your secret favorite all-time movie, that you could watch over and over?
  1. Is there a song that makes you cry?
  1. What is the best book you think you ever read?
  1. Is there a year that you considered the most wonderful year of your life? Why?
  1. Where would you like to spend more time in 2017?
  1. What actor/actress in any forum, medium or era do you think is greatly unappreciated?
  1. Please name us one fictional location you’d like to visit, and tell us why.
  1. Skittles, Milk Duds, M&Ms or Junior Mints?
  1. If you could be a professional athlete, what sport would you choose?

If you’ve already received this award, congratulations! Carry on, regardless.

1

Today’s Theme Music

As with many things, I blame Mom.

Actually, I’m embellishing that. I blame Mom for my love of reading, learning, walking and eating, so it’s actually a short list. I do blame her for some of the music I know, too. Blame isn’t the correct word, of course; I credit her.

Staying with a walking theme for my theme music, I recall one song that I sang when I was younger. By Roger Miller, it must have seemed odd to anyone noticing that a ten to twelve year old was walking, snapping his fingers and singing, ‘King of the Road’. I know Mom had this album; I vividly recall its cover. But more, I saw him perform this song on television. I have no idea what show or what year it was, but I remember it. Of course, I have an active imagination, so perhaps I just imagined it.

Anyway, from 1965, Roger Miller and ‘King of the Road’. 

 

0

The Question

The Question has arisen, raised by my wife.

It was innocent enough, oh, it’s always innocent enough. But knowing her…I was expecting, even anticipating, The Question.

It came today after I put on my coat. I call it vintage. She, however, said, “Honestly, honey, I know you love that coat, but don’t you think you should give it to charity? It’s worn and faded. You’ve had it for twenty-five years.”

Old and faded? “No, I love it.” And she was exaggerating. “For your information, I’ve only had it twenty-two years. I bought it on sale at Macy’s in the Sunnyvale Town Center when we were stationed at Onizuka in 1994.”

“Okay, twenty-two years. It’s still really faded.”

“Its worn fabric provides it with vintage character.”

Her eyebrows went up as she broke into a questioning grin. “Vintage character?”

“Yes.”

I stand by my declaration. I don’t plan to give it up. I don’t easily give up my goods. Underwear, sweatshirts, shoes, shirts, coats, pants, I wear them until  they’re clearly too small or begin disintegrating.

And I’m serious: they disintegrate. I was once wearing a pair of shorts, put something in my pocket, and torn the pocket. The cloth just ripped. I was so depressed. I’d only had the shorts twelve years. I looked for replacement shorts but never found a pair just like them.

My wife is clearly the arbiter of these matters for me. Not too long ago, she held up a pair of boxer shorts and sniffed. “Do you really want to keep these?”

I was affronted. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Really? The colors are faded, the elastic band just came off in my hands, the seam is coming apart at the crotch, and you have a hole in the rear.” She held them up higher. “They’re so worn, I can see through them. They’re like sheer curtains.”

I doubted her. I’d just worn those boxers in the last several days. “Let me see.”

She was absolutely correct, of course. All those small details she’d noticed about these old Hanes boxer shorts were true. (I believe they’re Hanes, but the label was gone.)  I’d noticed them, as well. I knew that these boxers would start dropping down my legs when I walked after I put them on. I laughed every time I saw their dilapidated condition.

I sighed, cringed and swallowed, bracing myself to issue the answer to The Question: “Yes, you can throw them away.”

Grabbing them from my hand, she hustled away. “I’m going to get rid of these now, before you change your mind.”

She didn’t even give me time to say good-bye.

This is not an economic practice on my part. Nor is that I love these things. They’re familiar and comfortable, like an enjoyable book, a favorite food or wonderful friends. These things are woven into my fabric of my memories and the essence of my being. I like remembering the past, not to hold onto it, but to understand it and myself, and measure the future. It’s only by looking at the past and understanding what didn’t go as planned that I can change things so they’ll be better in the future.

Elaborate rationalization? Sure, it could be. These goods I don’t give up might just be emotional crutches to remind me of glory days and better times. It could be that what you’re thinking and what I’m claiming are all correct, that it’s necessary to hold these competing ideas in our minds and accept, both are right.

All I know is, this was but round one. The Question will arise again.

2

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