come sit in my house.. the winds blow through open windows.. some days it is hot, and some days it is cold.. i once lived in a house with no ceiling, doors or walls.. only windows. how different my life these days..
Egads… a book review…
Doomsday Book : Connie Willis
What? Science Fiction? Time Travel? 14th Century Europe?
Wasn’t that the time of the Black Plague? The Blue Illness?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. And yes.
I’ve discovered Connie Willis.. sort of like Columbus discovered America. Doomsday Book won the Hugo and Nebula in 93. She has won 11 Hugos and 7 Nebulas. So maybe others have discovered her too. But those that like SF respond to my question of Connie Willis and Doomsday Book with puzzled looks.
Doomsday Book is story telling at its best. Willis spent over 5 years writing this book and I expect that those who love it as I do, consume it in a very short time.
It is a story of youthful exuberance. Of the power of belief, not in a religious fashion, but from a spirituality that shines from within. Something that can come from within formal religion and from outside it. It is both joyous and heartbreaking.
I witnessed this book. I don’t say this about books.
-neil
but no pondering weak and weary. On this night of nights when it is no less than hope that enters the world. Every group celebrates birth. This night belongs to one group, while others celebrate other nights and days. Shared all though is the belief that buried in the dust of the strugglings of daily life, there is something more. Something just. Something that stands above us all, as a star to which to reach. In the wind and cold, there is warmth within.
So stop. Pause. Look. For every person around you is struggling and striving and trying. Each one feels pain and fear and sorrow. Each travels the road alone, whether surrounded or isolated. We enter alone. We leave alone.
Such a burden to think yourself special. Such a burden to think thus. Rather see value in each life, each thing.
Ecclesiastes 1:9
Parallel Verses
New International Version
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.
Pick things up and put things down and needed. No more no less. May you know that that is sufficient.
May you feel the joys of all the celebrations of seasons such as these.
Yes. Hitchhiker’s Guide. When it’s time to say goodbye, sometimes there isn’t much to say.
I spent 4 years working hard and learning much. I guess that is when I’m happiest, when I’m in learning mode. But even with great technology, sometimes the market is just not right and it is taking just a bit too much time. That means something has got to be done. So, before that something, I decided to leave for greener pastures.
With the new job in the pocket, I had to say goodbye to the old. It was tough. People make the difference in the workplace. These are good people. But after a final yoga class and sandwiches.. no, no goodbye lunch for me, I shook some hands and left. It was like a weight was lifted. Funny how you don’t realize how the fishbowl looks from inside the fishbowl.
The next day was the next job. Good job. A place to learn lots of new things. A solid company. A new start. But as I sit here at home after my first full week, I can’t help but think about how chance lines things up. Sometimes for success. Sometimes for failure. If you’ve ever read “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” [a bit racy] by Milan Kundera.. six chance events that bring us to our fate…
Where ever you end up, there you are.
Sometimes there is nothing left to say, except ..
Thanks for all the fish.
He was yelling. Actually, he was screaming. There is an edge to the voice when someone screams. He was double parked next to a van stopped in the pickup area in front of the library entrance. It isn’t really a pickup area since there is no widening of lanes to allow an unobstructing stop.
He was screaming at the van about stopping and blocking traffic. He must have sworn because someone commented about the foul language. Fifty or so people stood around in disbelief witnessing this display.
He gunned the engine and his rather nice silver car jumped violently forward a couple of feet. The car looked and felt very much like a weapon. There were mothers and young children around. Teens carried books. There were many cars around. Many in some state of wait. Waiting to pass. Waiting to park. Waiting even to just get out.
It was crowded. It was a bother. At 3:30, the edge of school time with the school time crowding. I did feel the annoyance.
On the back end of a horrific day, perhaps the events pushing inward would lead to anger.
We are all human. We are all subject to the pressures from without, mounting on the pressures from within, potentially leaving one screaming in some library parking lot.
The solution for us? There is no solution without seeing. So the first step is to watch. Today you may not be able to stop what might come, but tomorrow you will change nothing unless you first see.
The car drove away in moments. There was no screeching of tires. No more yelling. The car gone, the question remains: What of the rage within?
One Fine Wednesday | at 3:30 pm | Just after school has let out.
Okay, this is for an American audience, used to driving on the right and entering freeways on the right with the fast lane on the left. It is also an over-reaction, though I know I don’t have to point it out .. Most people are good. Most people are thoughtful. Most people are considerate. That said ..
There are those that will drive in the fast lane holding a line of cars behind them hostage. They can often drive the next slower lane at the same speed, but end up matching speeds with those slower lanes, and thus impeding traffic. What results is a furious flurry of cars zig zagging to pass on the right.
It is a symptom of Entitlement. It has always existed. We were warned 2000 years ago that the first shall be last and the last, first. It is not a “problem” when it is only the rich or powerful or elite that act this way. I’m not saying that it is good, but rather that it is not debilitating. When the masses act in this manner, society itself comes to a grinding halt. We see that all the time. It becomes debilitating when it comes as an intransigent stance. One supported by fervor and belief that there is only one correct road, and that road is “my” road. Of course, there is no one road, no one way.
So commuting down 880 four days a week, I ask that you be willing to move over and drive in that slower lane that is moving at your speed.. not because you have to.. but because it is in final assessment, good for America.
A lot of the advice I got when I took up jogging as a regular activity was to pace my breathing with my steps. Breathe in for 2 steps, breathe out for two steps, in for 2, out for 2. When it wasn’t working, I tried changing my breathing pattern. In for 2, out for 4. In for 2, out for 3. In for 3, out for 3. Ultimately, none of these were sustainable enough to last more than a quarter of a mile, at most.
I asked for more advice, and I was told to slow down my steps. In for 1……….2………., out for 1……….2……….
This worked out pretty well, but I started changing it in my head. The musician inside me read my running in a very legato 4/4. I started breathing in 1, 2 and out 3, 4. This could last me for about half a mile before the out breaths began feeling heavy and useless.
So I changed it. Out 1, 2. In 3, 4. Out 1, 2. In 3, 4. The end of my measure became the beginning of my breathing cycle. I put the high point of the phrase on beat 2, had a quick recovery on beat 3 and set up the next measure on beat 4.
I ran 1.25 miles.
About ten in the morning after my return to the Altiplano, a soft knock on the gate announced the arrival of old awicha (grandmother) Juana. When she saw I was actually there , her cataract-veiled eyes filled with tears.
“I missed you,” she wept softly.
“Oh, Awich, I told you I’d be back” I chided gently as I helped her sit down on the stones in the warming sun. Then I prepared her customary cup of hot chocolate.
“The others don’t make it sweet enough for me like you do,” she confided in Aymara.
She loves her sweets, this little old widow in tattered clothes who gropes her way along the paths of the fields with her study stick. I asked her if she had been able to get to Sunday market recently.
“No, I just can’t make it,” she sighs.
I don’t think our awicha is going to be with us long. As we sit on the step chatting, she drifts off almost into sleep. “I just don’t have any strength anymore,” she murmurs.
When she tries to stand, I put my hand under her elbow to help her. Her bones are frail and tiny. She takes her stick in hand, and, bent under the weight of the cloth bundle on her back, steps unsteadily out the gate.
“I’ll see you next Sunday if not sooner, Awich,” I call after her in Aymara.
Each time I wonder: will I?
If you look carefully right now, 
you’ll see rivers of colors flowing down the valleys of the eastern Sierras. These rivers of color are the high altitude Aspen that change from forests of light green, through brilliant yellows, oranges and reds.
This picture was taken off of highway 395, just north of Mono Lake. The dirt road you see winds up this incredible valley, following the Aspen trail.
This transition of fall happens every year around the second week of October. It is there for those lucky enough to be passing by. But the opportunity is brief. The change happens quickly, with any one area making the transition within a week’s time. We are very fortunate because the flow of change like the flow of the trees themselves, moves from higher altitudes to lower as the temperature drops.
Sometimes you are lucky enough and these wonderful 
ephemeral views lie just off of the road where you can stop and just stare. This picture was taken on 395, just across from Mono Lake, late in the afternoon. We are not that high up, and didn’t have to work hard for the view. Just stepped on the brakes and opened the door. There were a lot of cars slowing or stopping for this view.
I am sure that lots of those that are lucky enough to witness this change, decide to make it more than luck, and plan for this annual event. They bring layers of warm clothes and their cameras, notebooks, paints, eyes, ears and hearts, 
and take those country roads, up into the mountains to be a part of this wonder.
I am most lucky to have had a friend invite me along on his Photography workshop, where he and 3 of his colleagues showed me where to look, when to look, and how to look. They do this every year, just around now. These pictures are fresh, less than a week old. But these same trees, less than a week later, are probably leaf-less, having shed their bright coats.
To see more colors, and maybe join them next season, check out their site: Sierra Fall Colors [ sierrafallcolors.com ].
I want to thank Patrick, Rogan, Mary and Tim for the wonderful experience and Henry, a fellow participant with whom I got to share the wonderful journey.
Sometimes you are lucky enough to be at the right place, at the right time.. on some country road…
My fiance and I recently celebrated our engagement by heading to Napa and doing Napa things – eating good food, tasting fancy wines, and seeing the sites. We were new to the area, so we decided to take a ride on the wine train our first day there. A friend of ours had suggested it as a way of seeing the sweeping vineyards while enjoying a delicious meal and getting pointers on places to visit. So, after booking tickets, checking in, and waiting until the last minute for an upgrade, we found ourselves in the fanciest car.
This car had velvety seats, fancy table cloths, seat-to-ceiling windows, and a freshly picked orchid on the table. Wide-eyed, we looked around at the finery and vaguely made settling-in motions. I took out my camera and laid in next to my cell on the table. We put our backpack on one seat, then another, then hid it under the fancy tablecloth. We grinned as our eyes darted around the fancy interior. We didn’t even notice that there were other people on the train until the ladies sitting across the isle from us offered to take our picture. I guess we made it pretty clear that this was a special occasion for us. One of the ladies took our picture and then told us she would take another when our complementary glass of champagne came. We thanked her and went back to acting totally normal.
The waiter came with our free champagne and we took another picture in which my fiance had his eyes mostly closed. The waiter asked if we were celebrating something, so we told him we were, and he gave us each a second complementary glass. Vineyards went by outside of the large windows and the food came, each course outdoing the one before it. About half way into the trip, we finally realized we should return the across-the-isle ladies’ favor, so I offered to take their picture. They were grateful and moved into postition. They sat close together and smiled in a complementary way that made it feel like they’d done this many times before. It only took one shot for them to take a great picture together and, impressed, I handed the camera back. I sat back down at our table and took pictures out the window.
Dessert comes as we head back, and we try to quickly savor the decadent flavors while also trying to have enough time to look around the rest of the train. The across-the-isle ladies have already left their table to explore, and after ordering some tea for when we get back, we get up to do the same. We walk the length of the train as it rocks its way back to Napa proper, sticking our heads out windows and watching the tracks appear behind the train as it leaves them behind. When we start to recognize the view, we dash back to our car and our table to pack up before we have to leave. We find there really isn’t much to pack, so we sit and drink our tea. I notice the across-the-isle ladies are back from their train exploring adventure, so I make some small talk with them. As we pull into the station, I ask them if they’re celebrating anything.
“We’re getting married tomorrow,” they say. “After 24 years – finally!”
