Choose Peace...Only Not When I am Directionless.

Choose Peace.

I have listened to several teachers say that at any moment of your life that you can choose peace. You can choose how you approach anything that life throws at you. If someone cuts you off in traffic or takes the last parking place that you were waiting for, there is a choice as to how you react. You can be angry, swear, give them the middle finger, and consequently you will be in a poor mood for sometime afterward.

Now, I like to think that I am evolving. I am gaining in wisdom and patience and tolerance and understanding. Sometimes, that image is shattered as I find myself acting exactly the opposite that I want.

I lost the directions to a place in Austin. I thought I knew exactly where it was. However, when I arrived there, it wasn't there. It looked like the office building that was in the picture on the web. It really did.

I stopped at a library branch and tried to look it up on the Internet, but all the terminals were taken and there were three other people waiting for one to open up. I looked in the yellow pages in the library and could not find the listing. Finally, being a little frustrated and impatient, I called my Dad and asked him to get on the Internet and search for me. This was on a cell phone, parked in the library parking lot, looking at the time on my dash, and wondering if I was going to be late or not.

Dad did the best that he could, but I was short with him, frustrated, impatient. I could have handled it a lot better. He probably felt upset that his son calls him and all he does is demand that he do the Google search the correct way. Some son.

I made it in time. However, I felt bad that I lost my cool.

Choose peace. The phrase never entered my head until the whole episode was over. I wish it had. If it is a choice between being late or being a butt to my dad, I can afford to be late next time.

Having a lot of Money...or just the feeling of...

We all want money. Come on..admit it. All of us have on occasion to win the lottery, scratch off $50000 one day at the store. You know.

Why?

From all the things I have read, the statistics of happiness compared to the socioeconomic status, a current of unhappiness runs through all levels of society. Ironically, the newly rich have lower levels of perceived happiness shortly after having received a lot of money. This is actually similar to the perceived happiness in a person who has just lost a lot of money.

What's going on?

I would like to be rich. But is it really that I would like to have money or would I rather have the feelings associated with a lot of money. For us in this society, money equates to power, possibilities, security, freedom from stress and worry, peace of mind and joy.

What would be the difference if you were given a wish that you wanted to feel what it would feel like to be rich, or to actually be rich. Think carefully.

I would love to have possibilities. I would love to have power to change things for the better. I would love to have peace of mind. I would love to have security. I would love to have freedom. I would love to have joy.

Most of all, I would love to have all of these things regardless if I have a lot of money or not. In fact, I want these feelings in my life before I ever get a lot of money, so that I can really appreciate what being rich means.

Giving till it Heals.

I have not been a great giver in a lot of my life. During my College years and Camp years I was a much greater giver of my time, skills, money, support, etc. I was more focused on other people a lot. I am getting back to that slowly because I now believe that by giving I help both of us. I help the recipient in that they get the support, assistance, money, time, skill, labor that they need or desire and I get the "high" from knowing that I have done what I was meant to do in the world, serve others.

In this light, I am going to put something out there that I hope somebody in their life can do. I hope it will be me, but anyone who gets in this position first is welcome to do it. It will be a life-changer.

Mission:

With $10000 dollars, spend the next 100 days giving away 100 dollars to a stranger each day.

The gift doesn't have to be to anyone in particular. Just go about the day and when you feel the person or moment is right, that's when to give.

My hypothesis is that by the end of the 100 days, the giver will be more fundamentally changed, closer to whatever God or belief system they may have, better able to cope with problems and stress in their own life, and have a greater appreciation for people everywhere.

Yes, this sounds like a lot to hope. However, I know that an act of kindness releases endorphins, serotonin and other neurotransmitters in the person who gives but also the person who receives and anybody who even witnesses the act of kindness. So at the very least, the giver will be adding to the joy or "high" of so many people.

I dare myself to do it in my lifetime, and I dare you. I think it would be the best spent $10,000 that was ever spent.

I even think that whoever does it first could write a book called "Giving Till it Heals: A 100 days of Spiritual Therapy" or something like that. Name you own book.

Get seen on Oprah. Get famous, get rich, and then you can go through the entire experience again but give away $500 a day for 100 days.

A Lesson on Talking

I have had a few very interesting but very quiet friends. I am not really quiet. I like to talk, like to sing, like to make noise. Sometimes that is just what it is, noise. These friends were quiet, thoughtful, deep, and in their own way as intense as I am.

One of my friends has a soft voice, thinks out every word he says, is reflective, and very engaging when he does talk. I know that what he says if something that has taken time, it is deliberately thoughtful, and worth hearing. Sometimes I would stop talking and there would be this silence for what seemed like hours and then he would speak and I still to this day remember most of the words he ever said.

Another friend was warm, caring, a light shone through his eyes. He put people at peace around him. His faith was something that was an intrinsic part of him. He didn't use "God" language when speaking, never quoted a scripture, never used other people's words, but his simple and straightforward wisdom, spoken in slow and measured words was powerful. Again, not a person with whom I will forget their words anytime soon.

What does this teach me about myself? Why am I, being such a word-smith, loving to tell stories and anecdotes, telling jokes, etc, so impressed by those that use few words to mean as much?

I don't know if people listen to me, or if anything I say is worth remembering. Sometimes (as you can see in this blog) I use several words when fewer would make the point better. I don't like being misunderstood. I use a lot of words. I also confuse people a lot.

Perhaps these people in my life that use few words realize that they don't have the compunction to make sure people understand what they are saying. They don't have the fear of being misunderstood. Therefore, they can use few words to say much. In the process, I think that says it all.

Walking Wounded and Silent Suffering.

Sometimes I come across someone that to all outward appearances, they seem calm, polite, put together, confident. Yet, something about them gives an impression of sadness, weary endurance, or silent suffering.

What do I do in these situations. I can feel something is wrong. Sometimes I can see the stress or anxiety on the other person's face. How do you approach people like this?

I am tempted to start up a conversation, but very few people share their sorrows with a stranger. I can pray for them. This I do, but isn't there more I can do?

I can be nice to them, send them positive thoughts and energy. But I meet more of these people all the time. Let's face it, I was one of them not too long ago.

Sometimes when I was suffering in silence I wanted someone to stop and talk with me. I know my family wanted to talk with me, but with family, I just didn't want to share my thoughts. Why would I feel different if it was a friend or even a stranger.

What makes us the walking wounded, the silent sufferers. What makes us the people who see others suffering and do nothing because we don't know what to do.

So, if you are reading this and have some advice as to how to help people who are suffering in silence, please tell me.

Cooperative Play

There are all kind of online games out there today. Some are on Facebook, others are massive online role playing games, and others just don't fit a category at all.

A lot of the games you get points or money or experience for blowing things up, killing, stealing cars, injuring or incapacitating people, etc. However, a few you can only "win" or get any better by helping other people, by cooperating as a group.

Isn't it great that in some games, helping your neighbor is a good thing?

I remember even playing Monopoly as a child, when I was in trouble and I was about the exit the game, one of my friends would "loan" me some money, and there were several times that I did the same. Why? Because the joy of playing with other people beat the joy of watching someone else loose and leave the game.

Now I am finding that the joys I can experience alone, such as playing piano or guitar or pottery or watching TV for that matter are never as enjoyable as when I do them with someone else.

It is amazing how much fun you can have with two not so good guitarists. When it is the quality of the company you keep rather than the quality of any music you produce that makes the day.

I also notice that hard work, or dull repetitive work is faster and more fun if you are sharing it. And why is mowing another person's yard is always better than having to mow your own?

What do I do when I recognize my Prejudices?

I like to think I am an enlightened soul. No really. I thought of myself as a person to whom race, color, creed, religion, sex, or socioeconomic standing meant nothing to me.

However, the other day I realized that I pre-judge almost everyone I meet. I don't think it is even conscious most of the time. I just know that a lot of learned responses from me put people into a label, a box, a category. This limits me in finding the greatness in them.

I had to get gas, and there was someone else coming into the convenient store. He was about my age, black, dark sunglasses, and a grey hoodie. I found myself checking my wallet. I looked around the shop for other people. I noticed the security camera behind the register. I am ashamed to say this. Ashamed to admit it.

These things happened so fast that it wasn't until later that I engaged my mind and saw my reactions for what they were. I was reacting to the prejudice I learned growing up. Why the fight or flight response? Why did I see and label this person, who may be the nicest, kindest, most gentle being on the planet, as someone to be cautious around? Someone to be feared?

Again, I am not proud of my actions. I know that my grandfather was racist. I have always seen myself having so fewer prejudices. But there it is.

I can only pray that God helps me to engage my brain, and my heart and stops these patterns of automatic thought. It is a disservice to humanity.

I choose to be a person who loves. Not a person who prejudges. But I have a long way to go.

When the Next Step is too Much.

During college I went with my communication class to a high-ropes course. It had zip lines, climbing walls, repelling, you name it. Supposedly it was there to build community, individual accomplishment, and be a great break from the college life for a while.

I went through all the stations and even in the climbing did so much better than I thought I could ever do. Then the last station was a pole that had a swinging bar suspended about four feet from the very top of the pole. When you got to the top you were to jump and catch this bar and then the instructor would let you down.

I tried. I got to within one step of being on the very top of this 15 inch round end of a telephone pole. I knew that one more step, though it meant abandoning the niche my foot had and supporting my weight and maintaining my balance for a second on one foot, would get me to the top. I tried. I lifted my leg several times but could not bring myself to take that step.

This was silly. My mind knew that they had guide and safety ropes on me. I couldn't fall. Yet, each time I tried to lift myself up to the top I had this fear stare me straight in the face. It was so frustrating. Finally I exhausted myself in trying to do this, as the instructor was strongly suggesting that I let go, rest and try the station again later.

I refused to give up. But all that happened is that when I finally let go, my legs were done for, no energy left at all.

Consequently, I never did go back to that station. I even tried to hide the tears from the other students, because I felt like I had so let myself down.

Later on, I realized that if I had backed off sooner, rested and came back to it I might have done it the second or third time. My stubbornness not only prevented me from accomplishing the task, it broke me down and took away my confidence.

I have only started learning wisdom recently.

I am stubborn.

Why can't I realistically back away from something that is out of my league, or can be tackled when I am not tired or impatient?

How many things could I have done so much easier if I had backed off the first time and came back when I could physically, mentally, spiritually handle it better?

Anjinryuumei - A kind of Peace

Sometimes other cultures have so much better a definition for words that frankly, we take for granted in English.

In Japanese, anjinryuumei means "the peace of keeping an unperturbed mind through faith." What a wonderful word. I focus on the part that says "unperturbed mind through faith." My mind is many times perturbed.

In Timor there is the word "simu malu." This means bringing about peace through mutual understanding. How simple yet so true. If I truly understand another, peace is so much simpler.

What is best is that there is a great Norwegian word "Fred" that also means peace. That's fantastic. "May the Fred be with you." How great is that?

In Swahili there is "amani." Which has so many different translations, but the one that I like the best is the "Peace of God which cannot be understood."

What is great about the many words of "Peace" is that for some languages, they are the most simple of constructions. Which probably means that they are some of the oldest words in that particular language. (Yes I realize that does not apply to some).

Even in Latin the word for peace is "pax" which can be traced to the very beginning of that language.

This leads me to believe that we as humans have needed a word for peace since our very beginning. At some point "peace be with you" really meant that at that moment, though we were enemies, we would suspend hostilities long enough to talk. A parlay.

I think I will call my particular brand of peace "Goofy Peace." The peace that comes from shared groans after hearing a particularly bad pun.

Have peace in your day. Even Goofy Peace.

Admitting Mistakes

I once worked with emotionally and physically abused children at a facility in Texas. It was the most difficult job I have ever had.

Most of the children were one step away from 24 hour lockdown status. Yes I know it sounds like jail. Just think of this as a half-way house to keep children out of jail until they grew up.

Now I have an ego. Most every job I have ever had I had confidence through the door that I would excel at it. But this one, that confidence disappeared very quickly.

I won't go into detail, but I was so out of my depth. When the ones for whom you are responsible do not grasp cause and effect, have triggers that set off violent or suicidal behaviors, that little piece of paper I got from my college doesn't mean diddly.

For the first time in my life I was called into the boss's office with another staff who was also having trouble. The boss confronted this other staff first and for twenty minutes the boss yelled at her and she defended herself, trying to shift blame, throwing up excuses, etc. Then she got off with a warning to improve her behavior.

When it was my turn, the boss asked about several incidents in question and asked if I had anything to say. She was totally in the right. I had no arguments, no defenses. I did not effectively manage the children and I knew it. So I said so.

There was a very uncomfortable pause that seemed to last a long time. I thought I would be fired, or suspended or something. Instead, the boss reiterated the purpose of the facility, the importance of focus, understanding and care for these children. I also got off with a warning.

When I talked with one of the staff several weeks later, she said that the boss usually yelled at people, and I was one of the few ones for which this didn't happen.

I would like to say it was my glowing personality, but let's face it, it wasn't.

I hope it was the fact that I was open and honest and truly wanted to become a good staff and caregiver. Perhaps I was just so out of my depth that all the excuses in my own mind just sounded like so much garbage. Who knows.

Jumping to the worst conclusions.

Why do I still sometimes jump to the worst conclusions given very little evidence. There have been times that I have gotten my taxes done and been shocked at the amount.

Thoughts go through my head like, "WHAT." "HOW." "WHY." and feelings of being even more poor than I was before and wondering if I could survive even another year with these taxes multiply in my head.

Then the day comes when I go to the tax man and he rightly points out how many mistakes I have made in my return, overestimating and underestimating, and forgetting entire sections of things that I could deduct. Suddenly that painful number starts going down and down.

It is silly. The car mechanic comes out with a big smile on his or her face and you think the cost just went up a thousand dollars. The air conditioning goes out and you see yourself on Ramon noodles for the foreseeable future.

I am trying to train my mind to approach life a little differently.

A big tax bill, it means I get the opportunity to manage my money better.
A smiling car mechanic means that he is happy at the money he just saved me.
The air conditioning means that I get to see if that cute Home Depot woman is working at the register today.

Yeah. Not easy to believe those things, but I am going to try anyhow.

A Quiet Place

How many times have I searched for a quiet place. A perfect scene. A peaceful grove.

I can remember the place that I felt most at peace, until recently.

It was a a summer camp. We had a huge log hunting lodge that was turned into a chapel, with an upstairs porch that overlooked the campsite and the bluff. It was a great place, open to the world.

I spent many nights on that porch, looking up at the cross on the hill, and seeing the stars. A quiet place many times where the worries of the day and the background noise of life would be still for a moment.

It is strange how things happen when being still, being quiet. Sounds that I never heard during the day would come alive. My senses would become sharper. The peacefulness of whispered conversation, quiet talks, and shared community seemed to happen the most then.

Now for me a quiet place is anywhere that I can tone down my mind, be still, be at peace, listen. And perhaps hear and feel and be aware of the significant moments of silence that make the rest of life richer.

Bare Necessities

Okay, one day I was short of toilet paper. Yes, that miraculous thing that keeps civilization together. I went to Walmart to see what the selection was, and while going through the aisles I was humming.

Now usually I hum nonsense, no tune, just something thrown together to occupy my mind. However, when I listened to myself I realized that I was humming the song from the Disney movie "The Jungle Book" "The Bare Necessities."

I starting singing this is a low voice, and sort of got a bounce in my step like I was Baloo talking to Mogli. Suddenly, going to pick up the bare necessities was kind of fun.

Someone seeing me in the Walmart that day may have had some strange thought about it, but I had a great old time.

The Bare Necessities of Life include being Goofy!

Meditation and its problems

I have recently started meditating. It is a time to quiet the body and mind, do deep breathing, center yourself, focus on one thing or nothing, etc. Sounds easy right?

I lay down in bed and adjust the pillows so that my head is totally supported from neck to scull. This seems to take some time, always adjusting the pillows. Then I make sure that my lower back is supported sufficiently, slip the shoes off, make sure the air conditioner is putting out a cool but not cold stream of air, find some location for my arms, which never seem to find a comfortable position. Then...Then I am ready to start relaxing.

I start using the vowels and consonants of the many names of God, or repeat a verse, or something using sound. Everything seems to be going great. Yes...I can feel myself becoming more peaceful..

Then, something starts butting against the side of my body. I open my eyes and there is my 14 pound cat, hitting its head against me because I am being to noisy.

I try to explain to it in a calm voice that I am trying to relax, and give it a scratch or two behind the ears.

I start again.

It now starts meowing every time I make a noise, and pounding its head against me.

I get up, throw the cat out of the room, close the door, and have to get comfortable again.

I now know why Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and St. Francis of Assisi didn't own any house cats.

What is Good?

For a long time I have been the kind of person to question everything. What is the right thing to do at any moment? What is the right decision, the right career, the right path to follow. What is good and what isn't.

I am no sage, no prophet, but I do seek after the truth of things. So please feel free to disagree with what I think I have found out about what is Good.

Good is......

Desiring that the other person becomes the best person they can be.

Adding to the sum total of joy and peace in the world.

uplifting those that are down, whether spiritually, physically, or mentally.

Creating or sharing beautiful things that inspire you and may do so for others, and willing to be inspired by what they do.

Caring for yourself so that you have the ability to care for others.

Being willing to share when sharing is called for,
listen when listening is needed,
laughing when laughter will lift up,
crying when shared emotions will heal,
and loving above and beyond all else, the golden rule.

Yes it is a little abstract, a little vague. But I'm still working on it.

Profound Doubts

Sometimes I have doubts. Sometimes I have profound doubts. Though some of these blogs may seem very optimistic, somewhat rose-colored outlook on life, it wasn't until recently that I could see the optimism and beauty in anything. Now I am basking in it and want to experience it as much as I can.

It took a long time of just surviving, just hanging on, just being numb to everything and not putting up a fight to change things for me to get to this point where I now appreciate life so much more so than I have in years. I have gone through a very dark time in my soul, but I am better for it.

Doubts are good. Bad things happen that shake out beliefs, dim our hopes, make us cry out for release or sometimes even for justice. A void is created and we feel empty inside. Then when we recover, when we bounce back (even after 15 years) we find that the void is filled, and suddenly the things we took for granted and the things we overlooked are new and fresh and wonderful. We are a greater person, better at expressing our love, a better brother or sister or mother or father or daughter or son.

I still doubt. I am still human. But I am growing.

Childhood Heroes

Growing up I was a science fiction fan. I watched everything having to do with the future and possibilities. Some notable characters were Superman, Batman, Kirk, Spock, Mr Robinson (Lost in Space), and Dr. Who.

I found that I was drawn to Spock in Star Trek. He had control of his emotions most of the time, was logical and pragmatic, had a bearing and gravity about him at all times. Even when he did feel emotions, they were passionate. I would argue that he loved more deeply than did Kirk, who lets face it, was a bit of a player!

I use to model myself on Spock. Calm, logical, collected.

Then I grew up.

I found that as a hero he left a little something to be desired. Humanity.

When talking with people, I noticed that when I was human, laughed, winked, frowned, smiled, etc. people were more interested. When I acted like Spock, well they closed down. No one wants to talk to a computer.

Being human is easier. Let's face it. I was born to play the part.

Building and Destroying

I read that one of the highest rated job satisfaction career are in demolition.

It makes sense to me.

When I was young my brother and I would build these complex Lego structures. Futuristic cities, cable cars, nuclear power plants, helicopters, spaceships, you name it. We would spend hours creating these things. In the eyes of children they were works of art.

Now my brother and I, not being sentimental, would proceed to destroy these marvelous creations. The power plant would break in half, the cable car would drop from an imaginary mountain, the cities wrecked by the spaceship crashing into them...

For those moments, destroying things was fun. The only times we regretted that destruction was when a Lego piece would crack or some favorite connector would split and we couldn't build those things exactly how they were again.

How many times have I destroyed something I was creating because I wanted to start over. Too many times. "Lets just stop and start over!" sometimes works...sometimes doesn't. Sometimes a piece is broken, a part twisted, a connector lost and cannot be found again.

The Power of Human Touch

I am an avid reader. One book that really got to me had a story in it about the power of the human touch. It captured my attention.

There was a hospital that had several preemies that were on the borderline of surviving even a few days. The staff was told on some of them to not form attachments, don't touch them, don't hold them, don't get attached because they would likely not survive. Well, against the wishes of the administration, an elderly nurse went in after rounds and if she could, held the hands, stroked the heads, and the ones she couldn't even do that with she still talked with and sang softly to them.

The days went on and while it is sad that a few did succumb and died, most of them started getting better. They started over the next couple of days to put on weight; one even could be weaned from the ventilator that she was on.

Finally, all but two fully recovered to the place that they were stable and could be moved out of intensive care.

When the nurse's behavior was reported to the administration, they did a great thing. They asked her to keep holding and touching and talking and singing to the preemies that would come through the hospital.

This was several years ago, but it started the studies into the importance of touch and premature infants. The book went on to say that the success rate of recovery for these infants averaged 40% greater than those that were not given any physical attention. In fact, because of this there are now several hospitals that have volunteers that all they do is physically touch and talk and even sing to preemies.

How wonderful that the loving act of one nurse and the importance of touch has saved so many lives.

When I was indescructable.

My family lived in Minnesota when I was in preschool. The winters there were very cold and the lakes and streams would ice over for months at a time. It was perfect for a five year old to go out and have fun.

My brother and I would be outfitted in these bulky, head to toe snowmobile suits, wool mittens, with scarves around our neck. We would wear these large, fur (or something) lined rubber boots. Even with all of this, as soon as we hit the outdoors we tossed the scarves, usually took off our mittens and unzipped partway our snowmobile suits.

We would take off to the stream that ran next to our house and proceed to toboggan all around the stream and on it (even though we were warned about going on the stream itself.) One time I was sliding across the stream and the ice cracked and I fell in. I didn't think much of it, as I crawled out, except that now there was a place we couldn't run the toboggan. My brother and I continued playing like it was no big deal.

Well, when I got home my mom took one look and stripped the clothes off of me, turned on a hot shower and tried to warm me back up. In her words, I was blue. Really blue. I didn't think it was that big of deal. I never felt the cold. I was indestructible.

Thank God for mothers that know when to get their babies out of the cold.

Like a little puppy...

There is something that happens in my life so vary rarely that when it does it is the most marvelous thing. Sometimes when I wake up I feel privileged and happy to be alive. Now I think this most of the time but sometimes I feel it down to the core of my soul.

The feeling is like being in love with someone. Colors are brighter, the future is full of possibilities, the very air seems sweeter, the fears of the everyday are quieted and there only seems to be space enough for love.

In these rare moments, life for me is like a puppy dog. I wake up and it wags its tail in anticipation of the fun we will have together. It is laughing silently because it knows that the joys I will experience will catch me unaware, and I will view the world in childhood wonder.

In my case, these moments are very rare and don't tend to last very long, but at least for today, I live and my life will follow me around wagging its tail.

To much Thinking...

When doing pottery, there is a time at the wheel when I have done a few pieces, and scrapped a few pieces that the better pots start coming out.

When I begin I have things on my mind like the texture of the clay, the stiffness or firmness, the size of vessel I want to throw, the centering technique, the speed of the wheel, the position of my hands, the wetness of the clay. Too many things are going through my head and they are louder than the muscle memory in my hands, which know how to throw a pot better than my mind does.

It is only when I have become a little tired, a little distracted that my hands take control and the piece just makes itself on the wheel. It is magic.

Now every time this happens I tell myself that the next time I sit down to throw I will not think about throwing and just let my hands and body do what they know to do, but you know me. Again I have to go through this dance until my mind is a bit more quiet again....

I had a friend who placed Bronze in the Javelin for his country many years ago and when he was describing what happened in his most successful throw it was almost exactly what I just described about my pottery.

Why is it that we let our minds get in the way of pure performance? You would think we'd know better than to think we know better..

I am an Evolved Individual....Not.

Do you ever catch yourself talking about yourself to somebody, trying to be the best person you can be, trying to impress someone on a first date, and turning around and doing something so idiotic that it shatters that impression?

In short, have you acted cool and been shown a fool?

Well, I have! Long time ago I went out on a date and we were going to this nice restaurant. So I had worn these white pants, a simple dress button down shirt, black socks and nice leather shoes. (Now I didn't ever say I was a good dresser!) We were seated and I proceeded to tell her all the wonderful things about be (Yes Egotistical much!).

The food arrived (Italian) and we started to eat. Now I talked about the clothes because it just so happened my pants were the exact same color are the cloth napkins at the restaurant. So I had draped it over my left leg while eating, and proceeded to wipe my hands on the right leg.

I thought the meal went spectacularly, when I stood up at the end of the meal to take her chair, and there was marinara sauce all over my leg. What an impression! She laughed her head off while I felt like such a clod.

I knew then that God's sense of humor was in full working order in my life. Consequently, I have never worn white pants to a date again, and looked twice about where my napkin was.

Double -00Diaper and the Spy Trike

I love children. There are times that I just become like a child around them and other times that I treat them and talk to them as I would an adult. However, it is great fun to be able to use my imagination around children when I get to tell them stories.

I was around junior high campers one week at summer camp when the kids were talking about how cool the motorbikes and quad-runners that they got to use at home. From this I just started talking about my great trike, in the voice of a 4-year old. They looked at me like I had grown a third head. It was great!

It looked like a modest tricycle on the outside, just like one that a toddler would ride, but it had some special modifications from the government...

For almost an hour I talked about the many missions the government had set me on. I never broke character. The junior high kids tried to trip me up by asking more and more detailed questions about my secret identity and many missions. I went into the story as deep as they delved. They must have thought that this guy talking to them was crazy. But I had so much fun. I had created this whole history and identity for this 4-year old, and I enjoyed acting like him.

Well, they may have thought me a bit odd, but the next summer, some of the same kids asked me for more stories about "Double-00Diaper, and the Spy Trike."

Rust by any Other Name

Rust is a great thing. No really. It has some admirable properties.

You take nice shiny, hard and durable shell. These things seem impervious, strong, impenetrable. Hard stuff.

Now take the smallest exposure, the tiniest crack in the paint, the covering. Suddenly this shiny hard metal starts turning into a soft, spreading patch. If left alone the rust will continue until it permeates the surface, getting under the paint, in the welds, growing toward the core of the material with slow determination.

Rust affects the hard exterior of many things. It opens up pinpoints where the rust can spread. Think of them as windows allowing the elements to affect the metal. Tiny areas where the actual composition of the material changes.

It also seems the older the material is, or something that is exposed to the destructive forces outside, anything that rubs against something else, any part that experiences heavy loads, or is stretched or squeezed throughout its life are more prone to rust.

Rust is wonderful isn't it! Once it gets in it likes to stay!

....

Now, read this article again, but replace the word "Rust" with "Love."

Baby Talk and the Appropriateness Therein

Let's talk about baby talk. In fact, I am just going to write about it and talk to myself. If you are reading this so much the better.

I have heard some of the most endearing (and slightly annoying) baby talk lately. I know what the childhood experts say about it in the formation of early language development, but to this I take one exception.

Baby talk isn't the nonsense syllables, that cooing, and funny faces, though it contains all of those things. It is the language of love and security. Can you speak in full sentences and still convey those feelings, well yes you can. However, why do we as adults use it not just for babies but for talking with that special someone in our lives?

I could say to a girlfriend "Gosh I love you. See the turned up smile and the twinkle in my eye? See my body language. Hear the sincerity in my voice." Talk about unromantic.

Talking baby talk to a child or an adult takes down those defenses we usually have up when we are having a conversation. We become a little infantile and in the process the person (or baby) isn't hearing the words spoken but the emotions conveyed.

When I was in a relationship one of the most warm and thoughtful things ever said to me was "You are such a dork!" But it was said with the most love and caring that it became my highest compliment.

Now don't call anyone else's baby a dork. The parents may not take it the right way. Nor call your boyfriend or girlfriend one unless you really mean it with your whole heart and in it is said in baby-talk!

When Truisms Are True!

What happens when something you have heard your entire life and dismissed as trite and unimportant suddenly becomes true?

"You can only see the bad in other people that you have in yourself."

or

"You can't judge another without judging yourself."

or

"Point one finger at someone and you will have four pointing back at you."

Yeah. You have heard them too.

I took some time out recently to go back and really think about the people whom I have judged in one way or the other. Most judgements I made were not based on the truth of things (I do not live their life so have no idea of the truth). They were based on value judgments from me.

"Well if I were in his shoes I wouldn't....." or "She says one thing but then she does the exact opposite."

In every instance, and I mean everyone, I saw in my own life times where I acted the exact way that I was judging others on. I mean EVERYTIME!!!

Talk about hypocrisy. I AM A HYPOCRITE.

Now I hope to be able to do the reverse. I want to look at people and say to myself,

"He is compassionate. Now that I have seen it clearly in another I can recognize it in myself."

"She is loving. I am glad I understand love enough to see it as deeply as I see it in her."

"He is loyal because I I have been loyal and can see the signs."

"She is unafraid, and I have been unafraid times in my life."

I am not saying that I am successful at this in any way, but I'm trying.

Laugh till it hurts!

My family just went out to have 4th of July lunch. Our family is usually very loud, funny, goofy, and just plain laugh a lot when we get together.

Today, when we were being silly about how one of my cats has gas so bad that the smell sometimes wakes me up in the middle of the night, and sometimes I follow it around with a can of air freshener, my whole family was just having a great old time.

I looked around at the people sitting next to us and all of them seemed somber, unhappy, quite. It seemed like we were having the most fun there.

Why is it that some adults seem to put away the unabashed, rip roaring, belly-aching laughter as they get older?

I can remember times that I thought I had bruised a rib laughing uncontrollably for half an hour or more. Times when my friends wanted to put away the sharp knives and fit me for something in rubber with long arms.

Are we becoming a culture that is afraid of making a spectacle of ourselves? Are we taking our lives too seriously?

I just know that our reunions wouldn't be the same without the guffaws, snorts, titters, belches, and other joyful noises.

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, even is he knows the punchline.

Joy - A Child's Tale

There is a story that my mother likes to share sometimes at family functions.

When I was about seven years old my family visited northern Minnesota to go fishing. Now let me say that my whole family were fishermen back then, except for me. I could not catch anything to save my life. So it was with great joy that on this occasion I caught my first Northern (a form of Pike).

I was overjoyed...so much so that I carried it with me all the way to the fish shack (a screened off shack in which all the fish caught during the day were cleaned.)

While waiting for my dad to get to cleaning my fish, I proceeded to entertain myself by using the Northern Pike as a microphone and doing a impromptu recitation of Bill Cosby's Adam and Eve. So here I was talking for the pike in the voices of Adam and Eve while holding it up to my face when I did the narration. Poor pike, its lips were moving the whole time.

During the part of the routine where Eve is saying to Adam "come here, come here, come here.....no go away, go away, go away" I looked up and the whole campsite was standing outside the fish shack just spellbound. I didn't know what they were staring at. Nothing special going on here. However now thinking about it, I guess a little kid playing hard to get between Adam and Eve using a fish is just something one has to see to believe.

The point?
Children can generate their own joy that isn't dependent on anyone else. It exists because the very act of play is enjoyable. They remind me of those times in my own life where joy wasn't something I sought after; but rather it was a product of the very act of living.

I live therefore I have joy?

Something that I need to live from time to time as an adult.

Hard to Swallow Pills

I am currently getting over bronchitis and I am taking a pill to break up mucus.

Yes, no soft puppies and singing tree column here! This is real life.

The pills are huge. You would think that the drug manufacturers would make the mental leap between someone very congested, sore throat, even water being hard to swallow and then think "A large pill that is hard and scratchy and needs 12 ounces of water to get it to the stomach is the perfect idea."

That made me start thinking about life, and the day I can stop taking these things.

So I am going to talk about the kinds of pills I wouldn't mind taking.

How many times have you choked on the pill of "small acts of kindness?" Not very often!

Even if people are needing to change their actions in some way to break up the congestion of their lives, small acts of kind and thoughtful regard, with the purpose of uplifting that person are always a good pill to give.

Very rarely would someone get a closed throat and start sweating in fear before taking another small pill called "Just listening."

A lot of people already know that some self-destructive behaviors in which they are engaged need to be changed. A kind considerate and most of all a patient listener is what they need more than a bigger bitter pill from someone else.

Most important, love, acceptance and trust allow the person to give themselves the bigger pills. It is always easier to swallow your own medicine than having someone else shove it in your mouth and whack you on the back.

Introduction to the Lunacy.

Let me introduce myself. I am a geek. Yes, one of those socially backwards, wear button up shirts kind of person who now has a bit better taste in clothes and some social skills, but still a grown up Geek.

I am also an artist. Yes, one of those thoughtful and moody, perceptive and quite, bearded and loving a cappuccino but not having one kind of people.

I am also stupid. Yes you heard it. I know a lot, but very little of any worth. I am smart enough to know when I am not thinking and stupid enough to still fool myself into believing my own hype.

I am also a believer. Yes, that hyocritical, fly by the seat of your pants, my opinion is better than most, believers. But I am recovering.

I am also a non-believer. A person who seeks after truth, quantifiable facts, figures, statistics.

I also have faith. Infinite patience in the things that cannot be explained.

There are more than a few things that I can't ""wrap my mind around." Other things that I get into the equivalent of a car crash with my mind.

This is me.

This blog is just to see if I can put into words what other people start looking at you funny for saying out loud.