What Is This Thing Called "Renz"

There once was a puppy named Annie (as in Little Orphan) and as it happens she was a slut puppy. She crawled under the fence and got herself in a family way with the neighbors' dog. Before long there were seven little puppies - four that looked very similar whom the Shell children decided to call George and the three Georgettes, one that looked a bit like his papa and so was christened J.J. (Jackson Junior - later to be shorted to simply Jake) and the twins - a boy and girl who looked more like their mama - these were given the "Spanish" names of the two older Shell kids who were taking a foreign language in school and were thenceforth referred to as Lorenzo and Lolita.

Now as often happens with names, these were tinkered with over time and gradually were abbreviated to Renzo and Lita. Sadly the time came where all the puppies went to new homes with the exception of J.J. who was chosen to stay with his birth family.

Now as it happened the oldest Shell child (moi) was also a "Junior." His family was greatly influenced by the residents of the White House in 1963. President Kennedy's son was also a "Junior" and they called him "John-John." For many, many years the eldest Shell child was referred to as Lar-Lar (something the Nilles girls will attest to on Facebook).

However, as he got older, he no longer appreciated this nickname which seemed more appropriate to a boy in short pants. How appropriate then that his younger sister, noting the absence of the puppies from the home, transferred the one pups name to her elder brother as his new nickname.

That, folks, is how Renzo became family nickname. This name, too, was further shortened to the simple Renz. That is the answer to the question: what is this thing called "Renz." Essentially, it is the middle letters of LoRENZo. Besides, "Renz In The Woods" sounds so much more interesting than "Larry In The Woods," don't you think?

Maria's Iceberg

Maria has a wonderful post at her blog, Kirkepiscatoid, on this image of an iceberg. It got me thinking and I posted the following comments below at her blog.

"Maria, you know how my brain works, I actually was fascinated by this picture and by the beauty of the undersea portion of the iceberg - the play of light and shadow. I am always thinking about the layers of truth and reality and for me this is more of a three dimensional representation of what I often picture as layers on layers.

I hadn't really thought about icebergs rolling as they change shape and melt. That image had me thinking again about the falseness of humanity's concept of time.

In our imposed sense of linear time on the planet - the change in this iceberg as it melts into the greater source - seems darn near geologic in it's pace.

Meditate if you will on an imagined time lapse film of this massive berg melting and rolling and returning to the source in all it's natural beauty and at a pace more consistent with God.

Our lives are but brief flashes of energy as we pop into and out of the physical world. Our melting and rolling and gradual return to the source should be imagined as equally beautiful and natural.

Peace."

I think it was Maria (or C.S. Lewis) that shared with me an image of a bowl of water floating on the ocean as a metaphor for our existence - at death the bowl dissolves. That too is what has floated to the surface (sorry) while pondering this iceberg image.

What do you see? Is this a threatening image, an image of Leviathan, as Maria indicates? I can't help thinking that an overindulgence of Titantic history and lore (along with Kate and Leonardo) has marked icebergs with their stamp of danger (I must admit to never completely relaxing in the ocean thanks to Jaws).

I suppose I simply see awesome Nature. I feel the same way watching video footage of tornadoes or standing on my porch during a thunderstorm. This is more what it seems Maria was getting at. Now I think I have to go back and reread her post again. I encourage you to bookmark her blog and visit frequently.

Peace.

Where In The World Is...

I moved to Michigan's Upper Peninsula nearly eleven years ago. I decided to move here thirteen years ago. My first experience of the U.P. was fifteen years ago. My then boyfriend of the time, Curtis, and I had an east coast vacation planned, but I broke my arm and that changed things. In the end we took a weekend trek around Lake Michigan.

We started at a family reunion in downstate Michigan - his grandmother and her children and their families - and then headed north to the Mackinac Bridge and beyond. I was simply stunned by the beauty. When you are from Illinois, rural means dairy farms in Wisconsin and soybean and corn fields in Illinois and Indiana. This was endless woods and two lane for miles with no houses or stores or towns in between. I was hooked.

My love for the land outlasted my relationship and it was not long before I was heading up here to see if it was for real or just vacation. It was for real. Two years later a job opportunity allowed me to make the big move and I've never regretted it.

I've added a blog to the list at left that has some great Upper Peninsula related posts. In particular, check out the post concerning Bill No. 4995 in the Michigan House of Representatives. Sadly we are often left off of maps of the continental United States, even official maps of Michigan, generated by bureaucrats working for the State of Michigan!

Well, today we Yoopers had our day courtesy of Liane Hansen of NPR's Weekend Edition Sunday. She dedicated her show this morning to the Upper Peninsula--its history, people, culture, etc. I hope you will take the time to listen to the various reports if you weren't listening on the radio this morning.

She goes to Babycakes Muffins, Getz's Department store (where my friend Al works), the Farmer's Market (where Seeds and Spores Farm from down the road sells their produce) -- it's all there. I was getting all misty just hearing my chosen home talked about on national radio. Even better are the comments from some of my cyber/blog/Facebook friends who reported thinking of me as they listened.

This really is a special place and I am so thankful that I found it all those years ago. If you've never been, I invite you to come for a visit. Peace.

Welcome To Maple Road

This is the view down my road. If you continue for about 1/4 mile, my house will be up ahead on the left. Of course, there's only two houses on Maple Road, so it's easy to find. I have finally figured out how to get the pictures from my camera/phone onto the computer.

I am enjoying working Saturdays, so that I might have three days off in a row -- two of which will always be pager free (no call on my "weekend"). Today was no exception. This would have been a very busy day in which I would have had to go in and work for a few hours, and, now due to the changes, I no longer get time and a half call back pay.

Two very brief snippets about my dogs. They know that when the clock radio starts playing it's time to get up, and as at least two and sometimes three of them are actually under the covers at that point, I really don't have much of a choice but to get up then.

This happens work days at around 7:30 AM and so amazing are the dogs that they will get restless right around that time even when I want to sleep in. We got up this morning and I ran them. They came back in and I gave them breakfast.

After breakfast they go back outside for a run around until I need to leave for work. This morning I opened the porch door and they began to trot down the stairs in single file. Right as dog number two hit the ground, we all heard a loud shotgun blast (it's bird season) and all three of them on cue simply turned around and trotted back up the stairs and inside. It was the funniest thing I have seen them do lately. There wasn't any cowed behavior or tails between the legs or anything...just "[BANG] whoa, guess we're going back inside"

Then this evening after work and after supper the dogs are outside running around in the woods. Suddenly Zoe (my Bichon) makes a break for it across the property, through the woods to the road. This wouldn't seem odd except that Zoe never cuts through the woods like that. She will run all the way back down the road to the end of the drive and then all the way up the drive before cutting through, so naturally I was puzzled.

Then I see the boys running down the road and when Zoe hits the road she cuts back and chases them. Before long all three of them are in the driveway and its clear that Cosmo has this stale hunk of bread again that they are all very interested in. I think Zoe would run through fire if food was involved.

The leaves are finally starting to turn by the house. Small bursts of yellow-green up in the maple tops that give this road its name. In a few more weeks all will be aflame with reds, oranges and yellows. This is my favorite time of year. Peace.

Grace

I wanted to find an image for this post and, without thinking, I Googled an image search on "grace." There were many images: of Grace Kelly, Grace Jones, Brett Butler as Grace (Grace Under Fire)...you get the picture. I chuckled and briefly toyed with the idea of using an image of Grace Jones, but decided against it.

My next search was "spiritual grace" and there I found many pictures of sunrays shining down or people prostrated before Jesus or books or references to Amazing Grace. I did manage to find this image though and after a bit more searching went back and downloaded it for use today.

I wanted to write something that stemmed from a dialogue on Facebook with a good friend who is doing some inner spiritual work these days. This friend asked me about how I came to be where I am and how I came to believe what I believe and how that is all working for me.

Two things I shared have resonated beyond that dialogue for me, and I share them today. One is the importance of living in the now. It is so easy to slip into past and future thinking and ignore what is occurring right now. This can take many forms: one can be so focused on the past and missed opportunities or questionable decisions or filtered "good times," one can focus all the time on planning for future events out of anxiety or greed, or one can hold up an imaginary life created from selective memory or unreasonable expectations and measure your actual life against this and find fault and disappointment. I've posted a bit on that before.

The second idea I shared is: "Every one of us is worthy of grace and love - just not necessarily what we believe grace and love to be, that's up to God. That's why so many people pray for the wrong things." This was what I wanted to write about today. Grace. I would say "God's Grace" but then I fear I stumble into evangelical/fundie territory and their concepts. Rather I want to find a manner in discussing grace that transcends a narrow Christian perspective and is made available to all, even my agnostic and atheist friends.

I was not surprised to find that Tobias Haller, a man who's wisdom and artistic talent I admire, also posted on grace today on his blog. If you click on the link and read, you will find an interesting discussion. However, I am always struggling to remove the translation of things spiritual into human concepts. In this case, Tobias emphasizes Grace as a gift and then goes on to discuss what one does with the gift.

I appreciate this line of thinking. However, for me grace simply IS. It's not a thing that is passed back and forth, accepted or rejected. In order to sense it better one need simply "open the door" as in the image I have chosen. I, too, you will note, descend into human concepts to define the undefinable.

Another friend of mine is Buddhist. At a gathering at my home this weekend, I overheard her discussing her beliefs. (I hope she will share them in the comments section below) Her sect has a distinct chant that helps adherents tap into the "breathe of the universe." I love that - "the breathe of the universe."

I associate Grace with the Holy Spirit - the breathe of God - the breathe of the universe. Just as we do not have to consciously think to breathe - we simply do, we are not often consciously aware of Grace within us, it simply is. It is within us and we are within it.

I have gotten a bit metaphysical before talking about seeing the layers of life before my eyes, the multiple layers of truth. Should I ever follow through with painting, I will try to capture that belief in my art. Look to the image I have chosen. It is the world beyond the world, right there before us--all we must do is open the door.

I find peace by trying to tap into the Grace in all of us - the Love that is God. I don't always succeed. I am often tired and hungry and thirsty. Blessed are those who can tap into the Love despite their exhaustion, hunger and thirst.

Peace.

. . . . .

Road Kill

My neighbor came over this afternoon while the guys were hauling away my junk pile. As guys are wont to do, we chatted for awhile about numerous topics before his real purpose was announced. It seemed that Chris was concerned because there was a chicken over at his house, and now it was up a tree because his cat was trying to get to it.

The issue for him was concern that this was our other neighbors' chicken ( they just put up a coop earlier this summer). I thanked the guys who were hauling my trash, and told Chris I would scoot over to Steve and Heidi's to check on the coop and then come over to his place. As it happened, the coop was intact along with the eleven hens and rooster. I started to wonder if perhaps the folks who lived back beyond Steve and Heidi had a chicken that got loose.

I made my way back through the woods to my house and then over to Chris's next door. He came out and took me to the far side of his yard and pointed up into one of the trees. There ,in fact, about 25 feet off the ground, was a fowl, most definitely not a chicken. To the best of my limited knowledge in such matters, it appeared to be a juvenile peacock of all things.

A little later in the afternoon I went to let the dogs out and Lola made a beeline for the bushes. True to her nature as a huntress she flushed this poor "peacock" who made a brave flight to freedom onto the roof of my porch. It was at this point that my love of animals began to get the best of me and I almost began calling around to see who might have peacocks so this poor guy could get home.

I get like that with animals. I can't help myself. There's a small flock of wild turkeys that are hanging out down the road lately and one of the hens has a bum leg. I can't tell if it was always bad or had only recently been broken. My heart goes out to her. The last time I saw the flock afew days ago, she was still alive and kicking (well, sort of) hopping along with the rest of them. I worry that she'll not survive the winter; that the other turkeys will abandon her and leave her to die alone. (crazy, no?)

I can't pass road kill on the highway either without feeling a slight tug in my heart. It seems like such a waste - such wanton death. Every time, I am reminded of an essay I read in Harper's magazine a number of years ago. Today I thought to use technology to track down that essay and I succeeded.

I was amazed at how long ago this essay was published. I started my search parameters for the past six years without success, so I widened the date range. Much to my surprise the essay was published nineteen years ago! I am happy to report that I now have a digital copy of said essay that has moved me (in recollection) for so many years.

The essay, written by Barry Lopez, was published in the July 1990 issue of Harper's Magazine. Who Are These Animals We Kill describes the writer's journey across country from Washington to Indiana to visit friends, respectfully pulling over and moving road kill off the highway.

"I do not stop to remove each dark blister from the road. I wince before the recently dead, feel my lips tighten, see something else, a fence post, in the spontaneous aversion of my eyes, and pull over. I imagine white-silk threads of life still vibrating inside them, even if the body's husk is stretched out for yards, stuck like oiled muslin to the road. The energy that held them erect leaves like a bullet; but the memory of that energy fades slowly from the wrinkled cornea, the bloodless fur."

His writing is powerful and he touched me deeply those many years ago, long before I envisioned leaving my urban life in Chicago. Wikipedia lists a number of books and I will soon expand my library to include some of his work.

I often feel silly about my emotional connection to animals--perhaps because I don't completely understand it. It's not the death of the animal in as much as it is the manner of the death. I am not against hunting per se. Many of the hunters and fisherman here in the Upper Peninsula consume what they kill - it is not about the sport of killing for killing's sake (though there is one physician up here who's house looks a bit like a modern day Adam's family home with all his "trophies"--he kills just to have another dead animal for his collection).

Barry Lopez goes on to write: "We treat the attrition of lives on the road like the attrition of lives in war: horrifying, unavoidable, justified. Accepting the slaughter leaves people momentarily fractious, embarrassed."

Accepting the slaughter - that is what we do with road kill, isn't it? I repeat his initial question and ask, who are these animals we kill? I'm not anthropomorphizing here - the animals truly do not know what hit them. Yet I can't help wondering if when the deer gets that deer-in-the-headlights-look if the words "Oh, shit!" don't cross his or her mind in that final second.

I remember driving home from Munising in a snow storm along Lake Superior. A mother raccoon and her litter of five rather large pups crossed ahead of me and my sigh of relief was cut short by a gasp of horror as I realized the oncoming car probably took out half the litter.

"Each animal is like a solitary child's shoe in the road."

Peace.

Wow...Just....Wow

Watching this video clip, I am once again struck by the horror that is out there. The "witch doctor" poster is particularly disturbing. I find it more and more difficult to place items like this in proper perspective and end up very frightened by them.

Do you recall the "Summer of the Shark?" There appeared to be a cluster of shark attacks/deaths and we (us and the media) turned that into a major phenomena. However, the actual numbers that summer were below the average for the season. Prominence in the media bred a false sense of importance - sheesh, when's the last time THAT happened, eh?

Many many of us now get our information via diffuse internet channels - this has had benefits, but also significant drawbacks. The speed with which Twitter can pass along a story is countered by the spreading of false or incorrect information. However, one only needs to look to the reporting of shots fired on the Potomac River near the Pentagon on 9/11/09 to see that even more conventional news sources make the same errors these days.

This same internet driven method of following current events allows for the easy dissemination of video like the one above. I too have now passed it along on Facebook and here. What does this man and his frightened/frightening world view indicate? This is where I begin to lose any sense of perspective which in turn feeds my fear.


I'd like to get back to the choice of images used. This poster caused me to gasp. I posted earlier about recognizing that the hatred out there for President Obama appears to be as intense as my hatred of President Bush before him.

I took a moment to think about images of Bush in political cartoons and what direction the caricatures took. My best recollections were that George Bush more often then not was portrayed as a small child (with large ears) being directed by "Uncle Dick."

I went upstairs and pulled down two dusty volumes that I read many, many years ago, Faces of the Enemy: Reflections of the Hostile Imagination by Sam Keen and War Without Mercy: Race & Power in the Pacific War by John Dower. Both deal with images of propaganda in war time.

In particular they make a comparison between anti-Nazi propaganda and anti-Japanese propaganda. The difference was striking and revealed a deep seated racism in our culture.

Images of the Nazis often over emphasized the uniform and had them wearing reflector sunglasses. The humanity of the individual was minimized. The emphasis was always on the political though, not the "German." Anti-Japanese propaganda, however, often depicted the Japanese soldiers as apes or vermin. The emphasis was clearly a racial one with the Japanese being portrayed as less than.

What then to make of the increasingly ugly images and rhetoric used against President Obama? I am at a loss as to how we proceed in a fashion that doesn't simply strengthen the chasm growing between us.

Professor Burgos, my friend from high school, posted the YouTube clip at his blog Splunge! and suggests that this is further indication of the demise of the Republican Party. I hope he's right and this is all an exaggeration of an increasingly diminished yet vocal minority.

Peace.

Cool Jerk(s)

What I'm about to say will likely not come as a surprise to our friends to the north or across the pond. We really are a nation of jerks...even if culturally more and more of our "ways" are being adopted around the globe, hence the name of this post.

Before I share the little episodes that occurred on my ride home today, let me put forth this thought. How many of you have been driving down the road and got frustrated enough at a slow driver, especially in the left lane, that you muttered some choice words under your breath?

How many of you have also done the same when you are passed by a "maniac" driving too fast? Now here's the kicker--how many of you have had both reactions while driving down the highway within a matter of minutes? I know I have. Let's think about that then, shall we? There are these two groups of annoying drivers out there - those driving too slow and those driving too fast...right? In other words the world would be a better place if everyone just drove the perfect speed (MINE) and did it behind me!

I stopped off at the Marquette Food Co-op on my way home from work today. I pulled out onto Baraga Ave. and paused at Front St. to turn right. Now those of you familiar with our lovely streets know that lane markings and logical traffic patterns are few and far between.

My best guess is that after checking traffic, I swung out into the road to head South. At about the same time, this lovely man decided he had to turn left. He clearly believed there were two distinct lanes and I had not turned enough into my lane to satisfy him. The result was I nearly cut him off as he turned into my blind spot and began to speed down the road. He was forced to accelerate even faster and swerve left while shaking his fist and making a face only slightly less frightening than Ms. Helmsley there.

Not two minutes later I am in the left lane with other folks in the right lane climbing Shiras Hill heading South out of town. The speed limit doesn't rise from 35 m.p.h. to 50 m.p.h. until you are at the top of the hill. I wasn't going fast enough apparently for this other lovely man on his big fancy motorcyle. He passed me on the right and pulled in front of me and made a thumbs to the right hand motion to clearly indicate that I should get my ass into the right lane.

Ironically I continued to accelerate according to the posted speed plan and by the time we were heading down the hill and I was approaching my usual (illegal) 60 m.p.h. he was now the slow one holding me back. When I got too close to his precious behind, he made another hand gesture suggesting I should back off! I know he was watching me in his mirror so I gave him his thumb gesture back suggesting he get HIS ass into the right lane - more to make a point than anything else.

This flap over the distinguished gentleman from South Carolina (not!) and his outburst was troublesome enough; yet the angry banter back and forth on Facebook and Twitter (and I've added my share of colorful commentary) has left me disillusioned.

If I'm honest though, I cheered the Iraqi journalist who threw his shoes at President Bush. There are some subtle differences between that outburst and the recent "You lie!," but in both cases the Office of the President was disrespected.

In arguing with anonymous commenters on a Facebook thread from a post of my brother's, I am hearing folks argue that we should not ration health care even if it means paying for questionable end of life treatment for dying octogenarians because "they deserve to fight for their lives," and at the same time suggest that the 45 million uninsured are "deadbeats" who deserve their fate because they have the right to work just like the rest of us. Apparently they don't deserve to fight for their lives until they get off their butts and get a job, dammit! The same lovely young woman made those two statements.

Individuals who foam at the mouth over the suggestion that the government restrict abortion in any way are likely the strongest proponents of gun control. If that statement bothers you than consider it the other way around - those that foam at the mouth over any attempt on the part of the government to restrict gun ownership (how dare the government meddle like that!) are usually the first to demand the government tell a woman she doesn't have control over her own reproductive functions.

How about those same "Right to Life" folks who go insane at the thought of abortion or euthanasia, but would be perfectly happy pulling the switch on the electric chair or arguing in favor of sending off someone else's 18,19, or 20-year-old sons and daughters to fight in a pointless war where lots of innocents on both sides and in between have died?

We have an incredibly wide middle class in this country. The lower classes are generally folks who earn less than we do and the upper classes are generally folks that earn more than we do. (Sounds a bit like those fast and slow drivers again, eh?) Darn it if both of those other groups get all kinds of benefits and we (the middle class) just get screwed.

How did we get so wrapped up in ourselves? Why do we seem so incapable of having civilized public discourse on the issues? Many of those on the right seem to hate President Obama darn near as much as I hated President Bush. I was struck today by an article that was shared on Facebook about canine intelligence.

The author stated, "Our ape cousins are simply too distracted by their aggression and competitiveness to fathom gestures easily. Chimps can cooperate to get food that they can't get on their own, but if there's the slightest chance for them to fight over it, they will. For humans to evolve as we did, Hare says, "We had to not get freaked out about sharing." Kind of makes you wonder if we're actually experiencing some kind of de-evolution in this culture, eh?

We are DEVO...D.E.V.O...Are we not men?

Read the rest of the article here.

What A Drag...

OK, for the uninitiated, these are drag queens- that is to say, men (usually gay) who are dressing up as women, primarily for comedic effect. "Drag" can often be used to describe any form of costuming. For example, in the gay community, you might speak of "leather drag," "cowboy drag," or "police drag" to describe the deliberate donning of the appropriate attire (i.e., if you were going to a country western bar, you might choose to wear cowboy drag, namely boots, hat, belt buckle, shirt). The primary concept is to be something you are not - a woman, a cowboy, a police officer.

More often than not, the guys who get into various forms of drag don't take themselves very seriously. After all, the very concept of gay drag is to have a good laugh, indulge a bit of fantasy, and let off some steam.

I started to mull over this post after driving by some biker folks in town. You know who I'm talking about, right? Otherwise average, middle class Americans, living out their mundane lives, who like to go riding on motorcycles and feel that Harley clothing is essential to complete the fantasy.

In most cases, these guys (and their women) are accountants, lawyers, and other professionals completely removed from membership in the Hell's Angels. However, unlike most gay drag, it seems to me that these guys take themselves a bit more seriously.

I don't mean that they believe they are actually bikers. They are, however, playing out some kind of macho fantasy (both the men and the women). What is lacking compared to gay drag is the irony. Well, the irony is there (big time), but not in the deliberate way that it is in gay drag.

In fact, drag seems to be present in many aspects of our lives. Take, for example, sports drag. I mean, of course, the weekend warriors who participate in a sport as a hobby, but insist on spending hundreds of dollars on the costume for said sport.

My particular favorite is bicyclists. Biking is a big sport up here in the Upper Peninsula. There are those folks though who want to be seen as serious cyclists and so they dress like these guys.


Now I'm sure that these folks compete in races and all, yet they are so hard core in their outlook and take themselves very, very seriously.

Not all sports allow for the opportunity of costuming. Many team sports require a uniform that is set by a league. I can't imagine a local softball teams trying to dress their players like professional baseball teams in the manner that these guys are trying to look like Lance Armstrong.

None of this, however, was necessarily post-worthy until I read something by Tobias Haller at his blog In A Godward Direction. I recommend you click over for the full read. He briefly discusses the use of clothing and attire (call it Western Christian drag) in the work of the missionaries to the South Seas, Africa, etc. Tobias's post and the guy I saw riding his motorcycle in town (cigar clenched in his teeth with his woman "riding bitch") really got my brain working.

There's this younger guy I know up here. He makes a big deal on Facebook highlighting his activities in order to show how bohemian he is. He's had status updates about drinking absinthe. He quotes Baudelaire and Borges. I sense a kind of desperation in his postings. This too seems to be a form of drag behavior.

Another cyber friend had some comments up the other day about one of her students - an otherwise sweet looking young woman with a nose ring - a big, through-the-middle-of-her-nose ring that this professor found rather distracting during her lecture.

How many different ways do we don drag in our lives, that is to say play roles rather than actually live them out in genuine fashion? I'm reminded of a 1950's self-help movie to be shown to high school students. In order to improve his social life, he is told to pick out one of the popular boys and model himself after him - wear what he is wearing, act the way he acts. Never mind about discovering one's individual self - play the role and find happiness.

We live in an exceedingly materialistic culture. What do your clothes, your home, your belongings say about you? What roles are you trying to project and why? How much of what you do is to present an image? Who are you performing to? This is a phenomena that is dependent on disposable income (or credit). I can't imagine a woman struggling to feed her children in a far off third world country worrying much about image.

I am not passing judgment on us - I have often made purchases, chosen books, dressed in order to present my own kind of bohemian image to the world. It is very easy to get lost in it all and lose sight of who we are underneath all the drag. Rather I simply want to remind us all to strive for self-awareness and to keep a firm grasp on the irony and humor present in the lives we piece together to show the world.

Finally, this is my brother, Leighton. On Labor Day he ran his first half marathon. You will note his rather mundane attire...not a bit of drag there at all.

Lately he has been running more and more. I'm not certain what all his motivations are, but he is reaping the benefits of his dedication. One thing strikes me though, and that is that he is being genuine about it. He's not trying to be a "runner." His pride in himself and what he's accomplished and the joy it clearly brings him are to be envied.

I can't think of a better example for the point I'm trying to make.

Peace.

A Weekend In The Woods

This young man was one of my companions this past weekend. I'll return to him in a few moments. If you don't recognize him, this is a famous portrait of Nathaniel Hawthorne.

One of the first things I learned about computers was that when they started to misbehave, you often needed to reboot. From time to time, rebooting wasn't enough, and you needed to power down completely - often unplugging the computer from it's power source.

This weekend I really needed to unplug - not my computer - myself. As you may know, I live without television - that is to say commercial programming - I own a very nice television set on which I watch movies and British television or classic American shows, all commercial free.

The only regular radio I listen to tends to be my clock radio in the morning when it is waking me up or when I am in my car. However, I have a wonderful assortment of music on iTunes and I highly recommend Pandora radio on the internet.

So, I already live a somewhat "unplugged" existence. However, I reached a point where I needed a bit more "unplugging." I put up my "Gone Fishin" sign here and on Facebook and unplugged. I read and watched movies and spent some time in the early to mid 19th century.

I began with an early novel by Hawthorne. I also read a very short (and not particularly well written) history of the transcendentalists, American Bloomsbury by Susan Cheever. I dusted off my copies of Emerson and Thoreau and began plowing through Emerson's "Nature" essay and Thoreau's A Week On the Concord and Merrimack Rivers. Last night I started Hawthorne's The Scarlett Letter (which I have never read before).

A month or so ago I created a Facebook quiz (Part II, in fact) - a "How Well Do You Know..." quiz - and one of the questions involved me having to take a one way trip in a time machine and what year would I enter...1409, 1709, 1809, 1909, 2109. My answer was "1809." I often feel that I was born into the wrong century. The Romantic Age appeals to me - the point at which humanity's knowledge was expanding, but just before the Industrial Age came and began changing everything.

My respite this past weekend was enriched by spending time with these quirky intellectuals from over 150 years ago. Without turning this into a lesson in 19th Century American Lit, I will simply say that Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorn, Louisa May Alcott and her family, Melville, Margaret Fuller - they all lead rather intertwined lives in New England. They were not satisfied with the world the way it was and attempted to write about it. They deliberately lived their lives in manners that attempted to demonstrate their beliefs.

American Bloomsbury helped me follow these writers through the ups and downs of their lives. Writers who are today remembered as foundation stones in American Literature, were not seen as such in their own day. I found something healing in reading about them this weekend.

By Monday afternoon, I finally reached the peace I had been seeking all weekend. My home no longer felt like quite the trap that I had been seeing lately. I looked around and saw things with fresh eyes and felt again my reasons for living where I live and the way in which I live. I rolled up my sleeves and started doing some Fall cleaning and felt at home in my nest in a way I had lost lately.

Our lives are such treadmills or merry-go-rounds - and I'm not trying to emphasize the repetitive nature so much as the constant motion - it is so easy to lose our grounding, we are so busy moving along - yet we measure our lives up against these single moments in time. We either pull out a photo album and reminisce over past events captured in a picture. We catch an episode of an old favorite television show and marvel at the time gone by. A favorite song from high school plays unexpectedly on the oldies station. Perhaps we believe we see how a good friend is living his life; yet it is still a snap shot, if you will. These moments are stagnant, whereas our lives are constantly moving and changing. It's an apples and oranges kind of comparison.

Those characters in the media (TV, movies, song) never age and change - our relation to them changes. Perhaps this is sounding way too metaphysical. Have you ever finally watched a movie that was SO important to you when you were 17 - you thought it was the most important thing around - but now you watch it and it's lost it's power? That begins to get at what I'm trying to say.

When I met my ex in town earlier this year, for example, I had been measuring my life up against a static memory of him that I carried in my head. My life (always in transition) was measured against a static memory that didn't really change, though, in truth, it probably mellowed into something rosier than the truth. When faced with the reality of where he is now in his life - my relationship to that static past disappeared - I looked at this man before me now and thought, "I wouldn't want to be with him."

So where I am going with this ramble and what does it have to do with these moldy old writers? Well, for an English major such as myself, these writers represent a way of living that I find very appealing, but they are static icons if you will. I have pasted together a weak understanding of their philosophy with some romantic notions about life and then measure my life in motion against this snap shot of the transcendentalists. I can go all weak in the knees over that dreamy portrait of Hawthorne over and over again, but it was only a single moment in his life.

This weekend I was able to track these icons over time and break down those static moments that I compare my life against and see them for all the aches and pains and struggles and successes that made up their full lives. I think I would have liked them, especially Thoreau, for he was a bit of a hermit who seemed to relate better to animals than to humans. For the moment I have stopped measuring the apple of my life against the oranges of these static moments and have found a peaceful place once again.

As for that dream boat, Hawthorne? Just like the rest of us, he got old and discouraged and his life didn't quite work out the way that he had intended.

I can't recommend enough a long weekend "unplug." I realize it's easier to do when you live alone in the woods in the Upper Peninsula. When you live in the middle of a city with children and a husband and all the demands that go with that it may be a bit of a challenge. Try and find a way to do it though, it can be very rewarding.

If you're really desperate, then you must find a way to get yourself to the U.P. woods and I will put you up in my guest bedroom and give some good books to read and some dogs to cuddle with. Peace.