Alexandersmap

    Month: February 2020

    • Listening Differently

      “When I was walking in the mountains with the Japanese man and began to hear the water, he said, “What is the sound of the waterfall?” “Silence,” he finally told me. The stillness I did not notice until the sound of water falling made apparent the silence I had been hearing long before.” – Jack Gilbert, Happening Apart From What’s Happening Around It

      When my children were younger and my career path meant something different, I didn’t listen as well. I was focused on other things, or perhaps distracted, or just trying to make sense of it all. I’m not sure an extra decade or two makes much of a difference in listening, but reading a poem early in the morning seems to help. The nest is empty now, but the walls still echo, and the kids are out there in the world. You know they’re out there; you can hear them in the silence. When you see them again the essence is the same, but they’ve changed and so have you. And that’s as it should be.

      When Bodhi was still with us back in those days of chaos, I’d get him stirred up by looking out the window and asking loudly “Who’s that?!” He’d pop up and run from window to window to see what he was missing, and not seeing it scratch at the door to be let out. He’d burst outside, bark his presence, realize he wasn’t missing out on anything after all and go pee on the lawn and go lie down. There are days when my writing feels like the Bodhi ritual. The thoughts have always been there, looking to break free and see the light of the world. Writing every day forces me, reluctantly at times, to let them see the light. And in the writing other thoughts grow, like a seedling breaking the ground and reaching ever upward. We all have so much to say, don’t we?

      Outside I hear my friend the Carolina Wrenn singing her now familiar song. Other birds are singing as well, and the feeder is busy with chatter and flurry. The sun has broken over the horizon and announces that it’s best to move on. The roar of things to do today grows louder in my head. I know this sound too, and push forward before the spell is broken once again. Too late; the roar of the waterfall has broken the silence.

    • February Tomatoes

      February is when I really start missing the smell of tomatoes. Ripe tomatoes for sure, but also the smell of the vines as you tie them off on stakes. Market tomatoes have never captured the essence of fresh summer tomatoes. Better than nothing? Sometimes nothing is better. This was all triggered by a Caprese salad, with the basil dominating the senses, the olive oil and balsamic drizzle playing complimentary roles, but the tomato was a silent partner; like white bread it had no soul. Such is February in New England: the senses get shorted.

      A mild winter so far doesn’t translate into the garden. There’s still 3 inches of frozen snow clamped down in the lawn, the garden and the pool, like a hand over the mouth whispering ominously; not yet. Precipitation forecasted for the day includes the “wintry mix” we all hate. Rain or snow? We’ll deal with that. Wintry mix? Make up your mind already!

      But there’s light at the end of the tunnel. The days are longer, there are lawn mowers and seeds on display in hardware stores, and the first day of Spring is four weeks away. February is flying right by, the way the rest of life does. It’s only a matter of time before the soil warms up and unlocks the smells of spring. In the meantime, there’s always a greenhouse or two to explore to get that flower fix. But tomatoes are going to be awhile here in New England. Part of living here, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it.

    • Stubborn Gladness

      I woke up early today, looked out the window and saw an orange Waning Crescent moon rising through the trees. How do you go back to sleep after seeing something like that? I re-read this Jack Gilbert poem in the dark, debating the time, and finally got up to make something of the day.

      “We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
      but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
      the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
      furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
      measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.”

      There is no delight in listening to the outraged, but it seems that some people prefer it. The world can indeed be a ruthless furnace, but you can know that and work to make it less ruthless and get along quite well in this world.  I’m inclined to avoid the people shouting about the furnace from the pulpit, on social media or at the roundtable on your preferred flavor of 24 hour news.

      I’ll risk delight, thank you.  That’s not sticking your head in the sand, it’s choosing not to dwell on the misery.  There’s no doubt the world is teetering on the brink of chaos:  climate change, pandemics, the three amigos of Trump and Boris Johnson and Putin, scandals and scarcity and millionaire sports stars playing in other cities than the one you want them to play in.  But there’s also no doubt that the world is better in many ways than it’s ever been.  You think we have problems?  Read some detailed history from the 16th or 17th century.  We have it pretty easy by comparison.  The furnace of this world is ruthless, and deserves our attention.  But it’s so much better than it was 78 years ago, or 102 years ago, and can be better still.

      “If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
      we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
      We must admit that there will be music despite everything.”

      Fight the good fight, but don’t forget to dance too.  I think if people danced more they’d have less of an excuse to be angry all the time.  Go on, turn up the music and move.  You know you want to.  You can watch the news tomorrow, it’ll still be the same mind game horror show.  Or maybe skip it then too.

      “We stand at the prow again of a small ship
      anchored late at night in the tiny port
      looking over the tiny island…
      to hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
      comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
      all the years of sorrow that are to come.”
      – Jack Gilbert, A Brief For The Defense

      I’m not naive, I know that none of us get out of this alive. I know there is suffering and sadness and struggle in the world. Life isn’t fair and is often unjust. But, to make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil… no, I’ll take stubborn gladness, thank you. I’ll take solace in routine and purpose in pursuit, delight in the magic of being alive, and joy in music. The quiet magic of listening to the thump, plunk and squeak of oars in a dark harbor or watching a rising moon when the world is asleep. I’ll risk delight, despite everything. And you? Want to dance?

    • Buddy, Can You Spare a Mask?

      I’m currently renovating a bathroom in my house, the second time in a year I’ve tackled a bathroom renovation. I’m either ambitious or a slow learner. But for now let’s call it the pragmatic use of acquired skills and available time. Why pay someone to do what you can do if the task is worthwhile?

      Step one in renovation (after confirming permit requirements) is demolition of the old bathroom. Demolition is the process of taking what used to be in your everyday life out of your life forever, using reciprocating saws, hammers pry bars and a lot of sweat equity. With the right mindset this can be a fun workout, like a reverse jigsaw puzzle with power tools. This is pure bliss when things are going right. But for things to go right you need to take a few precautions along the way. Things like turning off water supplies and circuit breakers for areas that you’re working on. Using drop cloths to protect areas not being demolished. And wear safety equipment.

      And that brings me to the strange way that coronavirus in China disrupted my bathroom renovation in New Hampshire. It seems the world has gone mad, and something as mundane as a dust mask for protecting your lungs from fiberglass dust have disappeared from the shelves of box stores and local hardware stores alike. Construction dust masks don’t even filter out viruses; viruses are too small and mock these dust masks as they fly into your lungs. That’s why they call them “dust” masks. But tell that to the zealous hoarders of all masks, sure that the apocalypse has arrived, snapping up shopping carts full of dust masks not matter what they’re rated for. On second thought, don’t bother, they’re not listening anyway. If you’re buying that many masks you’re uniquely focused on anything but reason.

      The quest ultimately ended successfully even as it delayed my start time. I did find a box of dust masks rated for general construction dust, not optimal but good enough for the task at hand. With a mask and safety glasses affixed to my face I cut the fiberglass bathtub into pieces and removed all the debris to the dumpster bag outside. Having done this before I knew the most efficient process and completed my demolition in time to clean up and go to dinner with friends. As a bonus I had an ice breaker story about the lingering elastic marks on my face and a tale of misguided mask hoarders. Coronavirus surely requires diligence, public awareness and precaution, but not dust masks. Could you leave a few for the rest of us? I mean, this bathroom isn’t renovating itself?

    • Giving Yourself Away

      “We think the fire eats the wood. We are wrong. The wood reaches out to the flame. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy, the manner in which we and the world meet each new day. Harm and boon in the meetings…” – Jack Gilbert, Harm And Boon In The Meetings

      I’ve had a book of poetry by Jack Gilbert for a couple of years now, but never really felt the pull of the pages to immerse myself in it until now. He’s grieving in this poem, which is more apparent as it progresses beyond my quote, but I’m drawn to the analogy of wood reaching out to the flame. All relationships are this dance between giving yourself away and in consuming the other half of the relationship as they give themselves away. It’s this concept of what you and your partner bring to the relationship today, tomorrow and the next day. Some days you give well more than your 50%, sometimes you give a lot less, but the sum of the two gets you closer to 100%. Balance. Yin and Yang. Order and Chaos in a perfect unity.

      The damage happens when one partner is always being consumed while the other burns. We’ve all been on both sides of that, whether in a friendship, a job or a marriage. Those relationships either end when one half burns out of the other jumps to another fuel source. I’m no relationship coach, but I’m approaching 25 years of marriage of playing both the fire and the wood. That gives me some level of experience in the subject, if never truly expertise. There seems to be plenty of fuel left to keep our fire burning for whatever time we’re given, and it comes back to the lyrics of the song that started it all for us, pointing to this concept of the dance between fire and the wood:

      “Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true
      But you and I know what this world can do
      So let’s make our steps clear that the other may see
      And I’ll wait for you
      If I should fall behind
      Wait for me”
      – Bruce Springsteen, If I Should Fall Behind

      Maybe this should have been a Valentine’s Day post, but the reality is that the real work of relationships starts after the honeymoon, after the flowers and chocolates of Valentine’s Day, after the fire’s been burning for awhile. That’s when you know if you’re relationship is more than just tinder. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy. I keep coming back to this line, and recognizing myself and a lifetime of relationships in the words. We all offer ourselves to the world, and sometimes we’re burned badly. A fire does similar damage to a forest, but the forest often comes back stronger. A relationship is resilient when both sides recognize themselves in the fire and the wood – consumption and fuel – and each strives for balance in what they bring to it.

    • Between the Memorable

      “Our lives happen between the memorable.” – Jack Gilbert, Highlights And Interstices

      I don’t recall ever using the word interstices in a sentence before referencing Gilbert’s poem here, but it marries well with the quote I pulled from the poem. Interstices is the intervening space between things. So for every highlight in a life; graduation, marriage, birth of a child, bucket list trip, there’s the million seemingly mundane things that happen in between. The drive to and back from the game, not the game itself. The five minutes you’re sitting on rolled out paper in the doctor’s office, versus the time that you’re engaged with the doctor as you’re trying to diagnose why things aren’t quite right. Interstices is the break in the trees that lets that flicker of light shine in your face. It’s the stuff of life, yet the stuff in between the highlights.

      I’m sitting in a restaurant parking lot waiting for a breakfast appointment to show up. The calendar shows the appointment, and sometimes I’ll block off the drive time to ensure I give myself the time. But this waiting time is blank on my calendar. And yet it’s not blank space in my life. We’re reminded of the tenuous hold we have in life when that doctor informs you or someone in your family that not quite right is something worse. For all our talk of living in the moment, sometimes we forget about life between the memorable. Celebrate the highlights, but remember that the interstices are part of the sum and should be savored too.

    • The Game

      I play this game of productivity each morning that I’m home, taking habits I’ve looped together and creating progress metrics within them. First I set the kettle filled with cold water, then drink a pint of water while reading. I try to get at least five pages of meaningful reading done before the kettle whistles. Sometimes it’s only three pages, depending on the conspiracy between the depth of reading and the volume of water being heated. But the goal remains five pages, conspiracies be damned. I could max out the font on my Kindle app to even the playing field, but really, who am I cheating but myself?

      Once my coffee is made, I write. My goal is to write 150 words before the coffee cools enough to sip, and then finish this morning’s post before I finish the cup. Sometimes the game is easy, sometimes I fail miserably, but I’m always more productive than I otherwise might have been. Such is the nature of habit loops, pulling us moment by moment in the direction we’ve set for ourselves.

      What’s missing in this morning routine is movement. And I’m well aware of the omission. Burpees created shoulder problems, rowing for me is best done in the afternoon, and long walks aren’t possible in the frenzy of a workday morning. But not all habits need to be lumped into the same loop, and I’ve shifted movement to the late afternoon or early evening, when I need it most. It’s become a defined break between work and personal time. Often I’ll add a game or two of chess here, and read a few more pages. If I haven’t done it already, I’ll also chip away at Duolingo tackling French. This used to be a morning activity but I’d get too restless after reading and writing to lump a session with French in, so I’ve taken to doing it in the evenings, instead of watching television. I’ll combine some reading here after Duolingo. Sometimes television wins the hour but I’ve kept the Duolingo streak alive all year.

      And that brings me to the last game of the day; reading before sleep takes over. Unlike the morning reading session I’m usually tapped out by late evening. Reading in bed instead of checking Twitter or the news is a way to end on a positive note, but I know I’m good for maybe five pages at most before I’m tapped out. The game is to try, and usually I get two or three pages in before I nod off. Game over, but another day ahead of where I was yesterday. That’s a win, isn’t it?

    • The Dangerously Distracted Among Us

      It’s happened a few times now.  I’ll be driving along and notice the erratic driving of a certain driver ahead of me.  Speed varying from well below the speed limit to well above.  Drifting from side to side in their lane, or well out into the oncoming traffic lane.  It’s clear that this driver is staring at their phone intently, completing some text or email, or maybe watching Netflix for all I know.  All I know is they’re a hazard to all around them. What’s scary is that I’ve been behind this car a few times, or worse,  I’ve been coming the opposite direction and see him straddling both lanes on the street and swerving back to his lane abruptly.  The sad part?  I know this guy.  He’s my next door neighbor.

      This guy is a divorced home siding salesman for a large box store.  He lives in a pretty large home with two cars permanently parked in the driveway.  He has no children, no pets, and is rarely home.  The house sits empty for weeks at a time, and then he’ll just show up again for some period of time.  He’s the kind of neighbor who blows the snow from his driveway onto the street, expecting the town to clear it away.  He does the same thing with lawn clippings in the summertime, which he mows infrequently enough that it’s a green mess in the street.  He’s not the sharpest tack in the drawer, so nobody believes he’s being antagonistic to his neighbors, he’s simply ignorant.  I don’t believe he’s a serial killer, but he is definitely a serially distracted driver.  And I wonder when he’s going to run over a jogger or drive head-on into an oncoming car.  He’s a ticking time bomb in this way.

      We live in a world full of highly distracted people.  Thankfully most aren’t as dangerous as this guy is.  I was at a basketball game last night and looked around during a timeout at 75% of the people staring at their phones.  There are legitimate reasons to check your phones – checking on the kids, looking at the standings and scores of rival teams playing a game or the statistics for the game your watching.  I get that, and I do the same thing.  But I’m doing my best to limit the screen time.  And I’ve made it a rule to not be like my neighbor, driving like an idiot, staring at nothing important on his phone while driving a killing machine at terminal velocity just looking for some kid on the side of the road.

      I once walked into a fire hydrant while reading the back cover of a book.  I’m not proud of it, but I laugh at myself sometimes thinking back on it.  It’s charmingly, stupidly analog to think about now, but I managed to do it.  Walking down the sidewalk and bang!  Shin, meet cast iron.  That hurt like hell for a few minutes but taught me a lesson.  Focus on where you’re going, not what you’re reading.  That certainly applies in the world of today.  I don’t find my neighbor’s texting and driving very funny at all, and I’ve thought about how to handle the situation.  He’s not a person I talk to often, even though he lives right next door to me.  Those interviews with the neighbors of the person who went postal?  Yeah, I can totally see myself being that guy talking about that other guy.  And my other neighbors would agree.

      I’d love to wrap this up with a bow, saying I spoke with this dude and he saw the error of his ways, apologized and changed on the spot.  But he’s not a guy you have a heart-to-heart conversation with.  He’s a bit of a moving target, pun not intended.  For now, I shake my head in disbelief and frustration whenever I see him driving.  And of course, give him a lot of space.  I’ve taught my kids that it’s not just that you’re distracted when you’re looking at your phone, it’s that when you aren’t paying attention you can’t avoid the other idiots on the road who are looking at theirs.  There’s no better example for them than the guy next door.

    • Progress Whispers

      Momentum is a funny thing. It doesn’t come from one big day of contribution, but from small, daily effort over time. Like many people I use the Jim Collins analogy from Good to Great of pushing the flywheel when I reference momentum. Here’s his own summary of the flywheel effect:

      “There is no single defining action, no grand program, no one killer innovation, no solitary lucky break, no miracle moment. Rather, the process resembles relentlessly pushing a giant, heavy flywheel, turn upon turn, building momentum until a point of breakthrough, and beyond.” – Jim Collins, The Flywheel Effect

      We’re all pushing at some flywheel, aren’t we? In our careers, our fitness, our relationships with our spouse and families, and really, in all of our pursuits. Put in your 10,000 hours one small act at a time and over time you reach a level of mastery, as Malcolm Gladwell has spotlighted.

      I came across this quote from Jon Acuff that got me thinking back on the flywheel effect. I’d read his book Finish last year, but I wasn’t in a place where it resonated with me. But I uploaded it again to see what I’d highlighted, and this stood out for me:

      “Progress, on the other hand, is quiet. It whispers. Perfectionism screams failure and hides progress.” – Jon Acuff, Finish

      Perfectionism screams… and blocks. Don’t write the first draft because it sucks. But everyone’s first draft sucks. Every NBA player missed countless shots in the driveway before they nailed them in the NBA Finals. Forget perfectionism, look for progress instead. Progress whispers. Did I take a step towards my goal? Yes, great! No? Don’t miss tomorrow. But keep chipping away at it. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

      I’ve written every day for well past a year, and I’m slowly seeing progress. Better writing, easier flow, expanding palette for new ideas, and an ever-increasing portfolio of completed posts. The writing has bled over into the career, pushing me to be more consistent there, and into other areas I’ve written about before. Progress whispers, but when you look back on it you find you’ve got a lot of momentum going on that flywheel. So by all means, don’t stop pushing now.

    • The New Hampshire Primary

      It’s that time again, when the crazy world of American politics focuses intensely on New Hampshire.  Pollsters and volunteers walk the streets with clipboards and pamphlets, earnestly hoping to sway your opinion.  New Hampshire has held the first Primary in the nation for 100 years.  Back then the Primary was held on March 9th, now it’s February 11th.  New Hampshire moves the date up largely to hold other states at bay.  We’re stubborn that way.  It seems not everyone wants this tiny, mostly white and rural state to have the kind of influence it has.  And frankly I understand that sentiment, but on the other hand, there’s something to be said for tradition.  One bonus of New Hampshire having the first Primary is the relative smallness of the state makes it easy for candidates to bounce from one speaking engagement to another with relative ease.

      As with many New Hampshire residents, I’m an Independent, meaning I choose not to affiliate with either the Democrats or the Republicans.  In New Hampshire this gives me the choice to vote in either the Democratic or Republican Primary simply by declaring which ballot I wish to get on election day.  And I’ve voted in both many times over the 25 years I’ve lived in New Hampshire, usually in the race that is most impactful.  This year there’s no point in voting for the incumbent, as he’s guaranteed the nomination.  So why throw away my vote choosing someone who’s guaranteed?  I have strong opinions about the guy in office, but I’m trying to be a gentleman in this blog and won’t say what I think of him.

      As an Independent, I’ll walk into the Community Center in my town where they hold the election, get in line to check in based on the alphabet, and tell them my name when it’s my turn.  They confirm it’s me, take a ruler and highlight the line with my name and home address indicating that I’ve checked in (so I can’t vote multiple times), and hand me the ballot.  The ballot is similar to taking a standardized test, where you fill in a circle next to your choice with a marker, staying carefully within the boundaries.  I take this process very seriously and take my time.  I then carry my ballot over to a machine that sucks it in and reads it, and a town official hands me a small sticker that says “I Voted!” and my civic duty is done for another election.

      I know who I’m voting for in the Primary.  I made up my mind over the last week, and it’s a shift from the person I originally considered.  As an Independent I have no patience for politicians who stand too far to the left or right.  It’s one thing to have conservative or liberal views, it’s another to blindly parrot the party leadership.  This isn’t a cult, it’s a democracy!  Give me someone who can reach across the aisle and find compromise.  That’s how the real world works, so why shouldn’t it be that way in politics?  Because some zealot screams at you to fall in line?  No, thanks.

      Can you guess who I’m voting for?  You can easily guess who I’m NOT voting for – anyone trying to drag us further apart.  And that’s enough information.  The beauty of our electoral process is that my vote is none of your business.  And your vote is none of mine.  But both count just the same.  What matters is that you get out and vote and support democracy.  We’re in an ugly time in American politics, but that doesn’t mean that things can’t get better, it just means that we have to work harder to get it there.  Just as our ancestors did during the darkest days in our country’s history.  I have faith in Americans to roll up our collective sleeves and fix what’s wrong with our country.  And it begins with a vote in the New Hampshire Primary tomorrow morning.