THERE IS A CRACK

  I read somewhere that an adventure is any ongoing experience where you have at least some control with the possibility of a good outcome as well as the risk of something not so good. The adventure could be anything from skydiving to trying to finish mowing the yard before it rains. Helen Keller told us that life is to be lived courageously rather than passively when she wrote; “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” I wish I could sustain that kind of bravado. Eleanore Roosevelt is often credited with; “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery but today is a gift. That’s why they call it the present.” I like that. Eckhart Tolle wrote a tiny-little book, ‘The Power Of Now’ . The book begs awareness that clock/calendar time is a man made device to organize human activity. But Tolle hits us over the head with the stark realization; time is a fluid dimension that propels us through the human experience but nothing ever happened in the past nor will it happen in the future. Everything happens in the moment, the present. That would be now, right now. For the sake of clarity it can be a few seconds, minutes or even hours depending on the situation but once it has moved on there is no going back. I imagined the metaphor; traveling by train, watching the world go by but the train never stops. The view outside changes as the moment moves from what is now the past into what had been the future. You can’t take a 2nd look the way a movie director shoots the scene again and you cannot experience the flashing lights of the Railroad crossing until you and the crossing are in the same moment.
Certainly Tolle wants to sell books and get people into his workshops but it resonates with that same sense of urgency Helen Keller spoke to. Time is precious, don’t waste it, be prepared. That fleeting, fluid moment carries us along with it whether we like it or not and if you’re not paying attention,  a ‘Daring adventure’ might lose its luster and be experienced as, ‘Nothing at all’. 
I spend a fair amount of time (frequently) thinking about people like Helen Keller and Eleanore Roosevelt and how their life experience translates to the rest of us. They’re not the only ones, I could make a long list but they are a great place to begin. When it comes to taking refuge in ideas and understanding I keep a huge collection of quotes. I default to them the same way my mother read her bible. My heroes are like life coaches who council me through the wisdom they leave behind. I would rather dwell in their shadows than bemoan my culture’s dive into unmerited hubris and lust for power. So I avoid both news and social media. In Leonard Cohen’s song ‘Anthem’ there is a line; “There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” That’s how I get my news. By then it’s old news and like standing water it finds its own level. 
I just finished watching a four part series; FDR. What stood out was exactly what the producers wanted us to understand, that  the 32nd President was driven by an unlikely array of circumstance and experiences that made him both a lightning rod of controversy and beloved at the same time. Born into a politically, socially vested family of great wealth it would seem likely for him to follow his uncle Theadore into politics as a Republican. But he married a strong-willed woman who championed the underclass. At 39 he was struck down by Infantile Paralysis (Polio) leaving him crippled for the rest of his life. 
FDR was able to win the Presidency but his physical limitations gave him a perspective that most Republicans could not identify with. He would not follow their party line where government was organized to benefit big business, banks and the rich. They hated him for that. Factor in the Great Depression and WW2; he pushed social reform, the New Deal, etc. His wife worked relentlessly to advance women’s rights and their gainful employment. Between them his administration was viewed as a dictatorship by rich Republicans and as a savior by ordinary people. 
I saw many of the same schemes in play that we attribute to the DT administration. The big difference is that FDR was driven by a sense of duty rather than an unquenchable ego and his own reflection in the mirror; “Mirror-mirror on the wall, . . . . .” The framers of the Constitution agreed on the principle of; ‘Liberty & Justice for All’. But from the very beginning Federalists with centralized government, national banks and ruled by the few, they had and still have a serious problem with the idea of “All”. 

DON'T LIVE IN A VACUUM

  My first job out of college was teaching K-6 physical education at a temporary elementary school in Liberty, Missouri. In early December 1967 I had one semester to go before graduation. I had met all of the school’s graduation requirements so all I had left to do was supervised student teaching (6 hr.s credit), carry another 6 hrs to be a full time student to qualify for my GI Bill plus a grant in aid and play baseball. That was the plan. My wife and I were learning (hands-on) how to be parents with our firstborn infant son. It was a busy time but no more so than the previous three and a half years.
At the time Liberty was building the new Lewis & Clark Elementary School. Those students held classes on the 3rd floor of the Odd Fellows Home just south of town. The gym teacher was an old black man. Mr. Gant had been the Superintendent of the Black school when segregation was the rule. He had been integrated along with black students into the new, reorganized district. He died unexpectedly and they were put in a bind midyear looking for a replacement. I had coached little league baseball the summer before and the son of the School Board President was on that team. It went like a double jump in checkers from School Board to Athletic Director to me. I could drop out of school, forego baseball, graduate with my class in the spring and do my supervised student teaching in the summer.
The second week of January, 1968 I reported to the 3rd floor of the Odd Fellows Home. It was the beginning of what would be a 36 year career, hanging out with kids, sharing what I could share and learning something new almost every day. The Physical Education thing got my foot in the door and with additional studies I migrated gradually into the Science Department (primarily Biology). It wasn’t that I loved the gym less, I just loved the Science more. 
Today I am 25 years, a quarter century into retirement. Teaching biology and environmental issues has evolved to a new generation and neither can I nor do I want to keep digging in that hole. But I don’t live in a vacuum. I resonate to a World View that favors a sustainable, unpolluted environment at the expense of corporate profits. I resonate to a World View that rewards cooperation rather than competition. One doesn’t need a crystal ball to imagine where that scenario would lead. I am not a doomsday prophet but change is the nature of nature and as a species I fear we are digging a hole that our descendants will not be able to climb out of. 
Mine has been a long and healthy life but there are no guarantees. Every morning my first thoughts include gratitude for the new day. I try to stay positive in troubled times. I like the idea of paying it forward a lot more than Making America Great Again. I almost always reflect, “When was it great?” I’m not going to berate the man or those who think he holds the answer. It’s not about intelligence, smart people do stupid sh*t. We all have a World View that either embraces diversity (a good thing wherever you find it) or obsessed with exclusive privilege for people just like themselves. If I ruminate on privileged bigots and their narrow views I get upset and that’s no fun. Pay it forward; do what you can, when you can and make the world a better place. When I do that I go to sleep and wake up feeling better.

WAITING, (WAITING)

  I’ve been writing a monthly piece for my high school class newsletter forever it seems and I’ve been able to keep up with that. But that’s a whole other thing than posting journal work in this blog. The one is little more than wordplay and some gentle, friendly reflection. The journal is a place I can internalize, examine and develop ideas and issues for my own benefit. So far this year I haven’t done much of that. Rather than opening a can of worms I would simply say that my culture has made a hard turn to the right and my left leaning conscience does not help rationalize the funk I’m in. 
Critical Mass is a science term dealing with the minimum amount of radioactive material required to sustain a nuclear chain reaction. In the social context it refers to the point when a process or idea gains enough momentum to become self-sustaining; it does not require a majority. I don’t think the current social thrust represents a majority of Americans but the ‘Right’ certainly does have critical mass. That would account for authoritarian undermining the rule of law, of weaponizing the Justice System, attacking independent media, the militarization of law enforcement and scapegoating marginalized groups. That’s how authoritarian regimes consolidate power. I find it difficult taking  comfort in that paradigm. So when I work at internalizing ideas and issues for my own benefit there is no benefit. 
Crap! I did it anyway; opened the can of worms. Thus far into 2026 I have posted five times and the year will soon me half past. I keep listening to a 20 year-old song by John Mayer, it goes: 

Me and all my friends, We’re all misunderstood

They say we stand for nothing and
There’s no way we ever could
Now we see everything that’s wrong
With the world and those who lead it
We just feel like we don’t have the means
To rise above and beat it
So we keep a-waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
We keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting for the world to change
It’s hard to beat the system
When we’re standing at a distance
So we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change
Waiting on the world to change. 

I liked the song straight out but reading the lyrics I get it. I’m waiting for the world to change as well. I find little ways to be thankful for the good life I live, volunteer with the Hunger Outreach Team. We solicit donated food, prepare, deliver 200+ healthy meals & another 200 brown-bag lunches, twice a week to a park where hungry people gather and trust us to share what we have. The only thing we require in return is a peaceful meal site and they leave the park clean as they found it. 
Every time I look across the serving table at a hungry soul holding out an empty plate I remember my Mother’s council; “There but for the Grace of God go I.” I neither judge nor condescend, I just spoon up food and usually get a genuine thank you. I don’t think people set out to be failures; sh*t happens and some of us handle it better than others. Some of us just get lucky. Feeding hungry people is something I can do in the moment and see the benefit unfold. 
There was a movie in 2000 with Helen Hunt and Kevin Spacey titled ‘Pay It Forward’. It revolves around a 7th grade homework assignment to plan and implement an action that will make the world a better place. The movie follows a chain reaction of good deeds from one person to another. An expanding network of people who know nothing of the project benefit from the initial good deed and you get a feel-good movie. In the following quarter century, ‘Pay It Forward’ has become an axiom for doing unsolicited good deeds with no conditions or expectations. My mother would call that The Grace of God but I would call it Making Good Karma (what goes around comes back around). That’s all I’m trying to do, make good karma; what you put out into the universe will come back to you, some day, some way. 
Every day I think about Good Karma rather than writing a journal post that will gravitate to the dark side. At the end of the day I’m Waiting, (Waiting) Waiting for the world to change. 

WHEN KARMA SMMILES

  So far this year I’ve been going to the gym first thing after morning ritual and I make it most every weekday. Before that I sat down at the computer and wrote first. When I get home, instead of writing I move on with something else. This is Saturday, coffee group at 9:30 and that is two hours up the clock so writing now feels normal. You don’t forget the keyboard, the letter ‘a’ is still under little finger-left hand. I’ve always had to sneak a peek at the numbers but muscle memory still kicks in on the home row. When my granddaughter was 11 or 12 she asked a question while I was typing. I looked up at her but kept on typing and she freaked out. They used computers at school but practice ‘Hunt & Peck’. She blurted out, “How do you do that?” But she types on her cell phone with only her thumbs and I think that is unreal. 
I am the classic introvert, spending a lot of time inside my head  rather than milking the environment for stimulation. Back when: my wife kept telling me I should be more outgoing but competing for talk-space in a group was never a good fit. People time their leap into the conversation so there is no break in the stream of words. By the time I can muscle into a short pause the subject has changed. Then there’s the Mark Twain quote; “When you have nothing to say, say nothing.” 
I am too old by now to be anxious about growing old. In a random crowd of 100 people there will be (maybe) one or two others my age or senior to me. Church and the hospital don’t count; they’re not random crowds. I’ve bee lucky all my life. When I break something now it takes longer to mend, maybe a lot longer but I mend. My introvert-self reasons that long life is preferred to the alternative and good health is an afterthought until it goes away. I cannot take good fortune for granted, can’t count on it but when Karma smiles on me I practice sincere gratitude.
Still, with advancing years I can’t ignore the obvious. As far as we know, we are the only self-aware species. We think about thinking and about what others are thinking. We connect the dots and make meaning. Without any ‘afterlife’ hyperbole we understand ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. This life can be measured in wake-ups and the number of remaining wake-ups dwindles with each new day. When we are young the number seems so far removed it’s easy to dismiss. So every new day I spend a moment being self-aware; my number today is diminished by one measure from what it was yesterday. Every new wake-up becomes more precious than the one before and I don’t want to squander any wake-up. I try to have a plan, even if it’s just for the day, do something important enough to feel good when you close your eyes goodnight. Life is short; by the time one realizes that inevitability it’s later than you think. 
BREAK: That was four days ago and I’m just getting back to writing. Been walking at the gym early, made cheesy-grits for breakfast when I got home and noticed I had an unfinished draft waiting in my journal. Today is Wednesday before Maundy Thursday, then Good Friday, skip Saturday and Easter itself. Busy week for the Faithful. I have Jewish friends who consider themselves Cultural Jews, observe all the holidays but pass on the religion. I could think of myself as a Cultural but nonpracticing Christian. Again I default to Mark Twain who was quoted; “Having Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” So Easter for me is welcoming new life springing from the earth from baby eagles in the nest, the greening of new grass and flower beds coming back to life after a long winter sleep. 
Speaking of life resurrected, stepping out the door this morning I was taken aback. Over night the buds on the Choke Cherry tree next to my driveway had transformed into tiny leaves but leaves none the less. Backing down the drive I could not dismiss the leafed out Choke Cherry standing there next to the bare-naked Golden Raintree and equally undressed Sycamore. In a few days there will be clusters of tiny white cherry blossoms with a pungent-sweet scent that cannot be ignored. I know it’s coming but every year I am surprised by the way it lifts my spirit. Yesterday I planted columbines in the flower bed under the cherry tree and never thought about the buds above me just hours away from popping. 
I feel better. Not so long ago I was preoccupied with what I consider to be a failed, lack of leadership at the highest level. If I let their self-promoting obsession spoil any part of this wake-up or the next or the next; then I’m taking the bait and become part of the problem. So I don’t tune in on the news as there is no good news. The less I know is not a handicap. I missed the ‘No Kings’ demonstrations recently but nothing or nobody suffered as a result. They were timely and welcomed but they were not diminished by my not knowing. I’m writing less but otherwise able to focus on doing what I can do and being a minuscule part of the change I want to see. A friend (philosophy Prof.) once told me; “The world is broken but you didn’t break it and you can’t fix it. So be the change you want to see and live the best life you can. That’s all there is.” 

THE CORNERS IN MY LIFE

How in the world did I manage to live so long and transition from a teenage adrenaline-junky to an 86.6 year-old with a case of terminal wanderlust? For most of my life I’ve been writing in self defense, never knowing how the puzzle pieces fit but never giving up. In my 40’s I stumbled onto music. No training just listening to stories unfold in three verses and a bridge. I wondered how I might tell my story in three verses and a bridge, then I discovered it had already been written. In 1989 Willie Nelson recorded ‘There’s Nothing I Can Do About It Now.” With 35 years of hindsight my spirit’s not as wild or restless as Willie’s but the rest of it could belong to me just as easy. The bridge goes; Running through the changes; Going through the stages; Coming ‘round the corners in my life” and it ends with “I’m forgiving everything that forgiveness will allow and there’s nothing I can do about it now.” As I reflect on those changes, those stages and the corners and forgiveness; the thought of being something, someone other than who I am; not a good thought. My Here & Now is pretty good considering the years and the miles and I don’t think another path would be so forgiving. 
If one gets this deep into a long life I think pondering the journey with its stages and corners is important. Having a real job with a boss and responsibility is necessary but terribly time consuming. It’s really true, after you’ve been retired a year or so one wonders how they found time for work with so many other important things in play. Making decisions based on my own wants and needs came natural until a decade or so ago. Now the first criterion is; How will this affect the way I would be remembered? I have no confidence in the ‘Hereafter’ myth, none at all. The promise of what I leave behind is as good as it gets. I hope that would be a legacy of fair play, tough love when needed, compassion, affection and generosity.
I am healthy considering; some folks inherit better genetics and others make a serious effort to live a sustainable life style. I fall into both categories and I attribute my good fortune to those elements. Those changes, phases and corners in my life have been exciting as well as difficult. Nobody had to tell me; ‘when you fall down, get back up.’ As often as you fall, keep getting back up. Life is unforgiving. If you need help then get it but you still have to do the getting up. Then, today is the only day you can put your hands on so do something with it. I learned that from my mother and as long as I cling to that then her legacy is alive in me. 
I am making a legitimate effort to be positive and work on my own character rather than bemoan the politics and divisive powers that beset present times. By now I don’t have to elaborate on my values or ideological convictions and, I can discriminate between being judgmental and having an educated opinion. I refuse to be intimidated and attempts too normalize bad behavior will not weaken my resolve. So I wake up to a new day every day and make it my business to find the joy. Spring is just around the corner and my wanderlust has me exploring maps and weighing destinations. A 10 -14 day roadtrip will do wonders for my spirit; who knows who I’ll meet or where I’ll find them. 

PULL TO THE LEFT

My writing recently has been pulling to the left like my truck with low pressure in the front tire. My truck won’t fix itself, I have to do the fixing. February has been a challenging month. I am too old to be taken seriously but I can live with that. What little leverage I have is limited to mundane muttering over issues within my grasp. I know that and it’s alright. But February has been a month of reprehensible behavior by my country’s CEO and my mind keeps going there against my wishes. I don’t want to focus on his mischief as I cannot change his ways. I must have started this entry 6 or 8 times and never gotten to the 2nd paragraph.
I am missing a big lower tooth in the very back. That leaves the back-side surface of the next tooth exposed. It has a sharp edge that had been out of reach but now my tongue keeps going there without permission and I don’t notice until it makes a sore spot that I cannot ignore. Here comes the metaphor; my conscience is like my tongue and all the Trumpfuckery is like the sharp edge on my tooth. The term is defined in the Urban Dictionary as; . . . involving racist, misogynistic, hateful speech & actions masquerading as patriotism. I love my country and I’m sure that DT Disciples do too but the irony seems to be, we don’t want to live in the same country. 
I have friends who delight in beating up on the man but when I go that way all I get is a sore spot on my conscience. I’m old and life is short, too short to be pissing in the wind over a broken system. I choose not to think of it as being in denial but rather, spending my energy on things where I can in fact be an agent of change. I can help with feeding hungry people who cannot meet their own need, and I do, it's a good thing and I don' know who would step up if I didn't. Best of all when I get home I feel better than before. When I can, I make small contributions to Planned Parenthood, National Public Radio and the A.C.L.U. They put my few pennies to work with other donated pennies to make for a fairer, more equitable society. 
Somewhere in the middle years of my career I had a revelation so to speak. I became aware that being an educator made me a moving target. Students, administrators, parents, other teachers; I never know who is paying attention or what they notice. If you care at all what others take from your example then you have to wear the hat you want to be associated with all of the time, every minute of every day. I like to think I don’t care what others think but I do care about the quality of their experience when I am part of it. I still think about the hat I’m wearing. 
This life is truly a journey and we know its destination, the ride stops with a eulogy. That makes every day more precious than the day before. I’m not going to let an egomaniac at the wheel spoil my day; that bears repeating, I’m not going to let an egomaniac at the wheel spoil my day or the next, or the next. American poet Emily Dickinson wrote; “Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.” I like that. I don’t know when the dawn will come but I have to believe that it will.  

LIKE A ROLLING THUNDER

     This summer will make it fourteen years that I have been writing this blog. All along I’ve made a habit of going back to reread articles. I used to belong to a writer’s group where we brought new eyes to each other’s work and that peer feedback is important if you want both your process and skills to improve. Haven’t had that support for a long time so I improvise with my own new eyes. More often than not I will leave an article dormant over-night or a day or two, so when I see it again I’m coming back around and it has to stand on its own legs. When I’m satisfied I can share it with others. I’ve deleted a lot this winter. The most recent blog post got away from me without the follow up revision and it was awful when I saw it with new eyes; a rant on DT that felt good with the writing but not what I want for the blog. I had addressed that situation sufficiently the blog before. He is a diabolical scoundrel but my scorn isn’t going to change either him or me. So I pulled it down a couple of days later and today is another day. 
    For over twenty years I have created a letter/story for the holiday season, sending it to 80 or 90 friends and family. The purpose was partly in the writing but also to reaffirm that I remember and I care. I am moved by the idea; if you love someone then you should tell them and this was sort of that. But I didn’t send my usual holiday greeting in 2025. I sat down and went through the motions but the words didn’t come; wanted it to read authentic but it just wasn’t there.       

    I am thinking a road trip would do wonders for me. But right now there are two doctors, a dentist & dental hygienist, optometrist, audiologist and the guy who services my truck, all wanting a spot on my winter calendar. My health is better than most at 86 and my pit crew all want the good health to stay good. There is a point when a promising idea becomes a plan and I haven’t quite reached it. But neither can I imagine spending a full winter in Kansas City. Still, other than a bitter, week-long, below zero cold snap in mid-January the weather has been a pleasant surprise. The road trip will happen, the when & where is still up in the air but I can pack and be out the door in a couple of hours. 

    The old Greeks has five or six different words to discriminate between all the different kinds of love. ‘Eros’ was passionate, physical love, ‘Philia’ love was dispassionate affection between equals or brotherly love, ‘Storge’ was familial, between parents and children, ‘Philautia’ love is love of self, etc. But most of us Love-speak without splitting hairs and draw from the context what the feeling is. So I can say without reservation that I love being on the road. What is it about keeping it between the lines, checking gauges and mirrors that gives me a dopamine hit? I do take satisfaction in the protocol but I suspect my love for driving is more about being in motion through time and space, watching signs and billboards slip by; certainly topping the next grade for a glimpse of where the road unwinds. I love it.

    I'm giving a shout-out to The Australian band, ‘The Waifs’ from their song, ‘How Many Miles’. It speaks to moving on, even whethe destination doesn’t meet expectations. The chorus goes: “How many miles did we wander, how many nights did we drive on through. We traveled that road like a rolling thunder; Yea but none of them led to anywhere that we wanted them to.” 
Back when I was a regular in my writer’s group with monthly meetings and seasonal workshops I learned a trick to offset writer’s block. You just start writing, about anything, random nonsense, descriptions of the wallpaper, anything at all. Before long that process of pointless wandering will spark an idea that should be explored. That is what I’ve been doing now for almost two pages and the only accomplishment I can boast is two pages of random rambling. I’m not giving up, just taking a break. I’ll come back tomorrow but I won’t throw this out and I’ll know where I’m going or I won’t sit down.