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    • The Other Side

      “What happens to the leaves after they turn red and golden and fall away?”
      – Mary Oliver, Roses, Late Summer

      I walked out just before bedtime for a quick look at the sky. The Northern Taurids peaked the night before, but we had overcast skies and alas, nothing to see here. A quick scan revealed another disappointing cloud cover masking the show. And still Mars shone through the passing clouds, offering hope that if I tried hard enough, maybe I’d see through to the other side. I went to bed instead.

      The Leonids offer a second chance, peaking on Tuesday night. The forecast doesn’t look favorable for the peak, but Monday night looks promising, and I promise myself I’ll stay up late to see them. We’ll see.

      Promises to ourselves have a way of falling away, like those leaves on the tree. I know where those red and golden leaves go: right over the fence into the woods by the tarp-full. I see them now; mounds of brown, damp leaves transforming back to mulch to feed their kin. And I see them gathering once again on the front lawn, mocking previous hours of work. And I wonder, where did all of these ones come from?

      The other side is that place we can’t see but we know it’s there. The other side of a fitness goal is evasive when you’re looking at the scale or your splits and don’t see much progress. The completed novel, the perfect job, the perfect marriage, and whatever it is on the other side of life all tantalize us with how close they are, yet how elusive they remain.

      All we control is what we do now. The direction we point ourselves. The consistency and honesty of our effort. Accepting this for all that it is. The rest blows in the wind, landing where it may.

    • Misguided Angels

      I said “Mama, he’s crazy and he scares me
      But I want him by my side
      Though he’s wild and he’s bad
      And sometimes just plain mad
      I need him to keep me satisfied”
      – Cowboy Junkies, Misguided Angel

      I saw a Facebook post the other day that broke my heart. A longtime friend who I view as a kid sister posted a picture mocking Joe Biden in a creepy caricature. With this one simple post I realized that she was another misguided angel and mourned losing her as we’ve lost so many others. It wasn’t so much that she clearly voted one way and I voted another. It was the ugliness of blindly following the masses down the rage and accusation path that saddened me.

      This Cowboy Junkies song is sadly beautiful. It’s the daughter who falls for the bad character and will go with him even as her parents and siblings beg her to see what they see. This guy just isn’t good for you. He’s leading you to heartbreak and disappointment on false promises. And of course I feel that way about the guy the American electorate just broke up with but for some reason can’t let go of.

      There’s something in human nature that draws us to the con artists. They say things to make us feel emboldened or powerful, and we fall in line. You see it in some evangelical leaders, in some politicians, business leaders, and yes, in relationships. I’ve learned that I can’t save everyone, but like the family of the misguided angel in the song, I want to try with those I care about.

      In many ways, I guess that makes me a misguided angel myself.

      “Misguided angel hangin’ over me
      Heart like a Gabriel, pure and white as ivory
      Soul like a Lucifer
      Black and cold like a piece of lead
      Misguided angel, love you ’til I’m dead”
      – Cowboy Junkies, Misguided Angel

    • Elton John Proving Me Wrong in Four Songs

      I had a conversation with a friend over the weekend about Elton John. She was surprised that I was a bit ambivalent about his music. The fact is I don’t love Elton John/Bernie Taupin’s catalog the way I love, say Jackson Browne or Billy Joel’s catalogs. Sure, he’s iconic and has some great, great songs, but the underlying combination of sadness and pouting just don’t capture my imagination. Too harsh? I say it with respect for his brilliance, but give me Freddy Mercury’s optimistic campiness over John’s pouty campiness anytime. And still, I do love many of Elton John’s songs. Here are four that easily make the case for why I may be wrong in my assessment:

      Tiny Dancer
      “But oh, how it feels so real
      Lying here with no one near
      Only you, and you can hear me
      When I say softly, slowly
      Hold me closer, tiny dancer
      Count the headlights on the highway
      Lay me down in sheets of linen
      You had a busy day today”

      The opening song on Madman across the Water, Tiny Dancer both sets the table and becomes an impossible standard to follow. Then Levon begins and you realize that this album runs deeper. I’d put the first half of this album up against many of the great albums in rock & roll music. There are thousands of vinyl copies of this album worn out on one side but pristine on the other.

      When I say I don’t love the Elton John Catalog, Tiny Dancer raises its hand and offers an animated challenge. Bernie Taupin’s lyrical pirouette forever married to Elton John’s gentle tap dance across the keyboard. This song remains as vibrant for me as the first day I heard it. And perhaps more so.

      Levon
      “Levon’s sells cartoon balloons in town
      His family business thrives
      Jesus blows up balloons all day
      Sits on the porch swing watching them fly
      And Jesus, he wants to go to Venus
      Leave Levon far behind
      Take a balloon and go sailing,
      While Levon, Levon slowly dies”

      How do you follow Tiny Dancer? With an epic Levon, of course. This is a big song, almost as big as the one that preceded it. Jesus can’t wait to fly away from the domineering father figure Levon and leave his oppressor to wither away. And we’re right there with him, grabbing a balloon and going for the ride. With so many albums why choose two from the same? Because it’s my list, that’s why.

      I love the stripped down version of this song on the BBC performance in the link above. Just three musicians and a gem of a song, with a respectful audience that doesn’t get in the way. A reminder that you don’t have to wear a duck costume to win over the audience.

      Someone Saved My Life Tonight
      “I never realized the passing hours
      Of evening showers
      A slip noose hanging in my darkest dreams
      I’m strangled by your haunted social scene
      Just a pawn out-played by a dominating queen
      It’s four o’clock in the morning
      Damn it listen to me good
      I’m sleeping with myself tonight
      Saved in time, thank God my music’s still alive”

      Well, here we are in Poutyville, with our glam rocker resenting the powerbroker who controls him and his career. But damn it (listen to me good) this is such a great song. And it signals resistance to the people who he believes control him. This song pairs well with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, another song with the same theme. But I like Someone Saved My Life Tonight just a little bit more.

      Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
      “While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
      Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
      Turn around and say good morning to the night
      For unless they see the sky
      But they can’t and that is why
      They know not if it’s dark outside or light”

      This is a love song to New York City, and I can imagine the city in the early 1970’s, with its cast of characters making the city their own. This is a song rooted in simplicity and beauty. And just might be my favorite Elton John song. Bernie Taupin paints a portrait of New York in all its gritty wonder, and Elton John strips down the campiness to a stunning piano arrangement. This is a quiet walk through Central Park with a close friend, talking about what you saw in the city this week. November is when I think about New York City, for I always end up there for a few days this month every year. Except this year, of course. But there’s always next year… right?

      And there you go: four songs that prove me wrong about Elton John. There are others standing behind these to help make a strong case; Border Song and Rocket Man come to mind as two more that I love, but I’ll stick with four. If we drift too far into the catalog we might bump into Crocodile Rock, and I’m trying to stay positive.

    • The Next Stroke

      “Every stroke well rowed means a better stroke next time, and so a better chance of winning the race. Every stroke well rowed is felt by all the crew and gives them confidence, and they consequently row their next stroke better; and every careless stroke rolls the boat and puts a nervousness through the crew. So Victory or Defeat depend on the next stroke.” – Steve Fairbairn

      I underlined the above quote in a book back the early 1990’s when I was coaching crew. The quote was almost certainly referenced in some practice session to remind individuals about the essential power of swing in a boat. To focus on the next stroke was all that mattered. The one after that would take care of itself, and so on. Victory or defeat depended on the next stroke. One after another, until you’ve finished the race.

      The rowing began in earnest yesterday. The goal is 100K in November, with only 5K completed. But this is achievable with a mix of 5K and 10K rows over the next twenty days. And then a bigger goal in December. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One day at a time.

      This is my sweet spot: consistent steady state rowing over a defined period of time. I loved being on the water, and yet I row in my basement on an erg purchased over twenty years ago. I haven’t rowed in a rowing shell on the water in all that time, and yet I row still. And each stroke is a lesson.

      The erg is different from the boat in countless ways, but the essence of the rowing stroke remains the same. There’s a rhythm and fluidity to the rowing stroke that translates as well to the flywheel as it does to the check in a boat moving across water. Mastering each stroke is all that matters in rowing. You might build strategy into the race or the piece you’re rowing; start fast, drop to a pace you can maintain, pick it up with 500 to go and sprint for the last 20 strokes, but strategy falls on its face if you don’t master this stroke and the one after.

      This approach to rowing, mastering the next stroke, certainly applies to the rest of life too. Master the next call when selling, the next sentence when writing, the next step when hiking, the next stride when running. It’s all the same; consistent focus on mastering the moment at hand. The rest will take care of itself. From now until we finish the race.

    • The Lifting Fog

      “Opinions are like nails: the stronger you hit them, the deeper inside they go.” – Decimus Junius Juvenalis

      Or maybe in 2020 it’s “the more you express them the more your friends mute you on Facebook”. Or look at you funny when you see them in public. The lesson, I suppose, is to stop hammering all the time. And, as we all know, you can’t change other people, only yourself. So focus your energy in the right place.

      We begin another work week with deep fog outside. The heat of yesterday gave way to a cold, clammy fog that descended into the woods and surrounds the house this morning. It inspires me even as it drives nails into the ankle I thought was healed. The fog offers lessons: This day marks a new beginning, as every day does. Enough hammering opinions and defending positions.

      If you’re wondering, Decimus Junius Juvenalis, AKA Juvenus, has a wealth of wisdom/great quotes you’re familiar with in The Sixteen Satires (like “who watches the watchmen?”). Worth a search if you geek out on such things (as I clearly do). There are days when I wish I could just read all day just to catch up on things that I skimmed through in school because I wasn’t mentally developed enough to fully grasp what they were saying at the time. But that’s what lifetimes are for.

      “You can never step into the same book twice, because you are different each time you read it.” – John Barton

      And so we change, day-to-day. The fog slowly lifts, and a new understanding develops. I’m clearing out the fog of politics and rancor from the last several months and looking ahead with clarity and purpose. To grow in the new light emerging from the fog. To begin again.

    • Reflecting in the Present

      “When purple colored curtains mark the end of day
      I’ll hear you, my dear, at twilight time”
      – The Platters, Twilight Time

      Piscataqua River

      The sunset gets all the attention, and sure, when you have a western view at the right time of day you enjoy the show. I take great pains to see as many as I possibly can too. But my favorite Navy pilot reminded me long ago to turn around and see what was happening in the rest of the sky, and as we were offered a view of water and a glass of rum to celebrate Democracy in action last night we watched the sun setting on the Piscataqua River in Dover, New Hampshire. The windows on the opposite shore (in Eliot, Maine) suggested the sunset we were missing while we were looking east, but the night was calm, the rum was good and the company was exceptional.

      Looking east at twilight offers something beautiful. It’s a look back on where you’ve been, even as the sun draws you over the western horizon. We can appreciate where we’ve been before, regret moments lost and mourn those we’ve lost. Alternatively, we can look ahead, ignoring where we’ve been before and barely acknowledging where we are now in our scramble to get somewhere else. But really, all we have is now. Here you are lingering in between; reflecting in the present.

      The view in the present can be stunning or off-putting or maybe even monotonous at times, but its our view no matter what we think of it. We can learn from the past, build towards the future and slowly, incrementally change our present – moment-by-moment. Looking east, I reflect that what’s done is done. We did our best with the time we once had. Looking west, I eagerly plot a future I can only hope to arrive at. Reflecting in the present gives us a chance to reset. To pivot towards a better future, built off of who we once were and who we are now. And to celebrate the day we’ve been given even as we hope for a better tomorrow.

    • Mid-Autumn Philosophy

      “I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud. So I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are a little yellow, its tone mellower, its colours richer, and it is tinged a little with sorrow and a premonition of death. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor of the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age. It knows the limitations of life and is content. From a knowledge of those limitations and its richness of experience emerges a symphony of colours, richer than all, its green speaking of life and strength, its orange speaking of golden content and its purple of resignation and death”
      ― Lin Yutang, The Importance of Living

      The leaves on the white oaks stubbornly hold on, even as the rest of the leaves are weeks into their return to earth. Still a lot of green in those leaves, I see. And orange and red and yellow. The oaks don’t get the attention that the maple leaves get – how could they possibly compete? And yet they remain the more resilient reminder of the warmer months. So we begin the waiting game.

      Two weekends ago the yard was cleared of every leaf and acorn. We knew it was only round one. Sure enough we had snow and cold temperatures roll in, and the leaves started raining down off the red oaks. Snow and red oak leaves scattered everywhere as if Mother Nature had vomited over the yard. Not a good look at all, really.

      But soon the snow melted and the winds picked up and the red oak leaves became a gift to others down the street. Or maybe the next town over. The winds were pretty strong and leaves love to fly, so your guess is as good as mine. The wind giveth, the wind taketh away.

      The stack of wood sits waiting for frozen ground and a chain saw to get chopped up into stackable bits. I gave the chain saw away in 2019 to someone who needed it more. I still hear about that, but it’s a phone call away and it was never mine to begin with. I find owning things to be a stack of small burdens that ask for attention, and yet we stack them like firewood anyway. Stuff we must take care of, stuff we give away time to. Stuff that doesn’t matter all that much in the long run.

      And so we slide towards late Autumn, when the trees concede their final leaves, the ground is raked bare once again, and life returns to a naked slumber. The days are short and grow dark too soon. A reminder that life too is short, but didn’t we know that all along? Embrace the cold, short days. For there’s magic in them. And this too shall pass.

    • Making Decisions

      “If my mind could gain a firm footing, I would not make essays, I would make decisions; but it is always in apprenticeship and on trial.” – Michel de Montaigne

      “If you’re not saying “HELL YEAH!” about something, say “no”.
      When deciding whether to do something, if you feel anything less than “Wow! That would be amazing! Absolutely! Hell yeah!” — then say “no.”
      – Derek Sivers

      When you’re presented with a choice, there are a few paths in front of you. You could go with the flow and see where it leads you. You could just say no to everything and stay the course on whatever you’re currently doing. Or you could explore the path, decide if it’s a hell yeah! or a maybe yeah and jump in… or jump away.

      I found myself a while back with an attractive offer to go play in another sandbox for what was on paper a big chunk of money more. I contemplated it, talked to a few people to bounce the idea off of them, and thought about it some more. Tempting. Distracting. But admittedly less than Wow! for me. I’m at a point in my life where time expended on the unknown for incrementally more profit better mean a Wow! or it’s necessarily a No!

      “The cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      And so it was that at 4 AM I woke up for a bathroom break and lay there with the Sivers phrase above spinning through my head, reminding me that this thing you’re contemplating? It’s not a Hell yeah! for you. It’s an opportunistic money grab. And what of the time expended in its pursuit? For life is very short, as living keeps reminding me. So it’s a “no”. Which led me to wondering, then what is my Hell yeah! anyway? And it was right in front of me all along. And then I knew where to double down.

    • The First 25 Years of Marriage

      “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

      Being married for 25 years seems like a long time, and at once like no time at all. If you’re looking for secrets to successful marriages, well, the Springsteen song above is a great starting point. It was our wedding song, and set the tone for infinite patience and helping each other stay in stride for year upon year. But ultimately both dance partners need to be in step if a marriage is going to work. And I’ve been very lucky in that respect.

      Arriving at the first 25 years of marriage, you look back and see the hurdles along the way. Money and raising young children test you early on. Careers and the demands of older children test you later on. And then empty nesting and figuring out what’s next tests you after that. And then the nest fills back up in a pandemic and you’re back at it again, figuring things out as you always have. Simple, right? Nope. But worth the effort.

      You tell yourself that the next 25 will be easier, but there are other challenges ahead. Children moving to faraway places, the health and well-being of family and friends and each other. Choices about where to live and how to live in retirement, if you ever get there. So you keep shoring up that foundation, work to shore it up when it crumbles a little bit here and there. And then keep building this castle higher and higher into the sky to see how far you can go.

      Life is funny and you and I know what this world can do. We build layer-upon-layer, year-upon-year. They say there’s magic up there in the clouds, but you and I know it’s really in the foundation. The climbing and the building continue. I’ll wait for you, and if I should fall behind, wait for me. Keep climbing. And that, friends, is the secret.

    • Walking to Calm

      It’s easy to feel distressed in a tight election, especially when the current President goes mad and declares fraud well before the count is done. Emotions are high. But the noise doesn’t matter so long as there is order. Bluster doesn’t matter so long as calmness prevails. I tune out bluster and madness, not because they aren’t factors to consider, but because they don’t help me navigate life. Who can think with all that noise?

      It’s a great day for a slow walk in the woods, or on a quiet beach, or just to turn off the noise and breathe slowly. Stay off social media, which only amplifies the madness. We always knew this one would be tight, even if we wanted an easy election. Democracy is hard work – never more than now.

      I turned down a hike today because, well, I work for a living. Honestly the hike would have been perfect today, but a brief walk in the woods at lunchtime should do the trick. Instead of coffee perhaps a quick row this morning before things pick up again. Exercise offers another form of resetting the mind.

      Some will celebrate the chaos. I’ll celebrate the quiet. Turn off all media and take a long, quiet walk outdoors today. Walking meditation. Calm. The election will still be there when you get back. The pandemic isn’t going anywhere either. Walk. Breathe. Reset. And move forward with the things you can control in life.

      Simple, right?