It is all about the eyes

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Don’t know what made me see it but after awhile I noticed “the look”. The look off into the distance is what makes the photo special. 

All the fashion shots have it. All the celebrity shots have it. What are they looking for? 

Perhaps the stars are reading their scripts away from the camera but there is something special when a person looks beyond what is visible. The pupils stare off to the left or right looking for something no one can imagine. There was a saying “…the whites of their eyes” but maybe this is true. Maybe there is something about our eyes looking off into the distance that entrances us. 

A mystery of what is outside our immediate reference? Perhaps someone has entered the room and the subject breaks to glace away? Perhaps a loud noise disturbs the quiet and this is a reaction? 

If the pupils look straightforward does it mean something? Of course looking straight into another’s eye and they look back to you without distraction means there is a connection. It is more powerful than a touch of a hand or a passing statement. 

To bare your soul, since they say the “eyes are the windows to your soul”, is difficult yet attainable and very special when achieved and shared, why not try it? 

So if someone you are conversing with face-to-face looks away, don’t be disturbed. They are probably just looking at the cue card.

Memories

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It is said that memories are what makes us who we are. The “who”, “what”, “where”, “when” and “why” that we remember is what makes our history.

Does it really?

We all know that our short-term memory is important on our survival. Our name, address, phone numbers, PIN numbers, passwords keeps us functional. It is like remembering to zip up our pants and not have someone remind us. 

Part of it is the routine of doing the same thing every day over and over again. The coffee pot is in the same place and the bread is in the same place so there is no stress to remember where they are. We remember which knob is the hot water and which side to part our hair. We remember which cubicle is ours and when to take a coffee break. We remember our children’s names and recognize our face in the mirror. 

Long-term memory can become fuzzy. We may remember the name of an aunt but can’t remember what she looked like. There are organizations that will trace every family member and whatever was recorded about them to help our long-term memory. Photos and family records help describe what our kids don’t know, but how much do WE really know.

Our memories are slanted and skewed and tainted by what history has to offer and what we wish had been. I can view photos of my former self and can feel the material of the shirt I’m wearing. I can tell you the colors in the shirt, the feel of the shirt and even the smell of the shirt. I cannot tell you when or where the shirt was bought or when it was thrown away. 

Photos help to remind us and reinforce our memories. A photo of me in the snow with a sled is pretty much like every other family photo of their kids in the first snow. Even in a black and white print, I can remember how the hat felt, how tight the red jacket was, the rubber boots and even the splinters of the wooden sled. The other memory of that one photo brought back the moment in time where my family pushed me out into the cold as if the snow was going present something to me that I would find adventurous. Shoot, I was a city kid and a slow slid down a hill in the front yard into a bustling street full of slush was not what I was looking forward to.

Then there are those memories of people who were special in our lives. Over time our history with these people has filtered. What may have happened at the time has changed for both over the years. We seem to want to remember incidents to please ourselves. 

As we get older our memories may be all we have left. And sometimes we forget. As we get older our memories may be all we have left.

Why does this catch my attention? 

In about the mid-sixties, as I remember, I attended a concert of a fairly favorable rock band with a friend. After the show, as I remember, we both wandered backstage and somehow came away with a guitar. 

The person and the show I thought where this incident happened do not jive with the person who I thought was also there. That person remembers the show, buying the tickets, enjoying the music, and returning to the campsite, but does not remember the guitar incident. 

Confused? I was too. So I had to think of the other shows I saw of this same rock band. 

I was positive this guitar came from this particular rock band. I had even seen them play it on television. 

So why was I confused about this particular incident? I had a firm visual image of the backstage room and the images of the faces and the fear of being in the wrong place and grabbing whatever I could to make an escape without being detected.

Maybe it wasn’t the show I thought of or with the friend I thought of? Well, that is a perplexing problem to memory recreation. 

One of the other shows, as I remember, was with my wife but I don’t think that was the show. This rock band had already become fairly famous by then so I don’t think security would just let us wander around there. Another show was in about the right time line but I don’t remember whom I went with or much about that show. 

So what are my memories about a girl from the same time period? Was she as sweet as I remember? We’re we as good together or is it all filtered through time? 

Unfortunately I kept diaries through much of this time and have a day-by-day record of what happened at the time.

Oh well, I have no solutions but will remember what I want to and how I want to remember it. That will be my history

Short Sleeve Shirts

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It doesn’t seem like much. It is hot and wearing a long sleeve shirt is uncomfortable. So you roll up the sleeve to get cool but that just looks yucky. Besides the fashion police would never allow such a faux-pa.

For years and years, even in the south, the men and women suffered through the heat with layers of heavy clothing. The first I remember was the seersucker suit that was lightweight. A somewhat breathable material that when worn made the situation bearable.

Hard to believe by today’s standards of t-shirts and sweats and shorts and baseball caps being the standard wear, there were proper expectations to what a gentleman or lady was to wear at any occasion.

The long sleeve shirt was one of these items of clothing. In the winter it help to stay warm under a sweater and a coat but in the summertime it was something different. If you watch any old movie all the actors are wearing long sleeve shirts. Under those creased tuxedoes and hot lights those poor guys were sweating like pigs. Dancing was excruciating and even with all the deodorant mankind could manufacture, a guy was unattractive in a long sleeve shirt. Even the colognes that were concocted to present a welcoming presents to another wouldn’t work.

So somewhere in the 50’s the fashion experts decided to cut the sleeves in half. It started out on the golf course with shorts and white socks but then went into the office.

A suit coat could be worn over a short sleeve shirt and look perfectly acceptable. In the office, when the coat was hung up and put away, the short sleeve shirt stood out from all the others in a formal setting was unacceptable.

Luckily the colors starting changing then patterns and then casual office attire took over.

Not a fashion expert or even a connoisseur of the trend, I lived through the changes and am very happy with the results. Where is the iron and the starch?

Living on the Edge

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Read a review of a book called “Appetite for Self-Destruction” by Steve Knopper (haven't read the entire book so I can't endorse it) but it reminded me of a previous thought.

We all go through those times of deep problems. Whether they are perceived or real, we turn to whatever or whoever might help. Sometimes those decisions can be more harmful than the original problem.

All these books and movies about people sinking to the depths of their despair are fascinating to the casual person who’s life is in-order and finds it entertaining and somewhat revolting, but disturbing to others who have been there.

Remember that crush you had on the little girl in the fifth grade? You remember it one way and she probably wouldn’t even remember your name. The entire world surrounded thoughts of her but she didn’t even know you existed. You were too scared and insecure to talk to her or even make the attempt. Yet she was all you thought about and her lack of attention or even notice crushed your world.

You moved on to another failure but sooner or later there were options presented that made the pain go away, at least for a while. Maybe it was alcohol or cigarettes or driving fast or another girl who would not say “No”. Maybe it was a damp basement with strangers snorting through straws or driving to another country with someone you barely know but not caring if you ever get there or come back. Maybe it was the party you got lost in and woke up at home. Maybe it was the dance when the leather was a little too tight.

Some made it out to the other side and some did not. What made the difference?

If the upbringing was formidable or the emotional structure sound even the most tempting relief could be understood and overcome.

Our present day social media glorifies our excesses. Even the ones who did not make it are icons on our t-shirts. We grew up, got a job for a paycheck, created families, purchased loans and houses and cars, joined the school PTA, celebrated our parents anniversaries, made Christmas a special day, and became normal.

And when the time comes, living on the brink, for whatever reason, can be walked away from. It may be thought of as an experience survived or just luck.

Does the needle go into the vein or just under the skin? Does the peer pressure overindulge or does sleep overcome? If the car swerves will you recover or have your license revoked? Will she wait until the morning or will you be gone? Should you continue to hang with this group who abuse you or move onto another?

As a survivor, some appetites for self-destruction seems hedonist or sometimes barbaric. The old adage of “would you do it again” always comes up. It was a time in space with certain possibilities and certain people and overwhelming emotions that could have created the end, but did not; at least so far.

Orphan

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An orphan is defined as a child permanently bereaved of or abandoned by his or her parents. In common usage, only a child who has lost both parents is called an orphan. When referring to animals, only the mother's condition is usually relevant. If she has gone, the offspring is an orphan, regardless of the father's condition.

I don’t know what it feels like to be an orphan. I had a mother and father. All my friends had a mother and father. Everyone lived the “Ozzie and Harriet” lifestyle.

In school, there were these kids that everyone scorned. These kids didn’t wear the same cloths as the rest of us. These kids didn’t attend the same churches or were not part of the same clubs as the rest of us. These kids just kept to themselves and after school they disappeared. Later I found out they were from the nearby orphanage.

I wondered how they lived without a father and a mother? I guess it mattered what age they were when they became an orphan and what knowledge they had of it.

Then I found a family with a father and mother but they were different from the ones I knew. This family actually did things together like camping and playing games and there was a real interaction between them. Some times it was laughter or screaming but it was a real connection that drew them together under one name. Watching them from afar I started to feel like an orphan.

By the time of high school, I started noticing differences in other families. There were some with just a mother raising the kids. Never a discussion of where the father was or what happened, the kids seemed as normal as anyone else. Some seemed to be closer with their brothers and sisters and some seemed to realize their economic restrictions but all in all we all got along together.

I met a girl who was an orphan. She was fairly young when she became an orphan but had some memory of an orphanage. She kept the dress she was adopted in. She rarely spoke of her adopted family and the few stories told were fairly dark. She hung tightly to any attention and even wanted to become another family while still faintly interested in finding the facts of why she was abandoned. She was given the freedom of changing her name and become her own person.

Yet an orphan becomes his or her “own person” early in life. Without a family to guide or rely on, a child has to grow up early. There are no excuses in decisions made or the consequences.

When you search your ancestry to trace your family path, imagine if there was none. You would be an orphan.

Daddy?

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Today started just like most Sunday mornings. Woke up to the gray morning daybreak, get up and get on the computer to see if the world ended while I wasn’t watching. A brief awareness break then back to the cloud of sleep with running in the snow in socks, trying to get into a government building to take a shower, cut off by an area being roped off for a big party, and all these smiling Latinos dressed up getting a free dinner but I won’t take you into my crazy mind.

As I do every Sunday, I make a cup of coffee, get my fruit cup and oatmeal then settle into “This American Life”. This PBS radio show is the only electronic media I concentrate on listening instead of just background chatter. Today’s program was on “Child’s Logic” or how children make perfectly logical arguments and arrive at perfectly wrong conclusions. The program was interesting and thought provoking.

And you know what that means.

First, I had to compare what I remember from my childhood to what was being presented in these skits. It was a long time ago but some of the statements rang true.  Kids do not have any control. They are just observers. At first with families then with friends from church organizations then into a school system telling each the same message. Only the family gives different values that will go on forever.

Second, I thought of my friends. Most are parents so my buddies from high school and college are all “Daddies” now. They had to deal with these questions and try to find the correct answers.

Now I think I called my father “Daddy”? Maybe I called him “Dad”? Never called him the cool “Pop” or the formal “Father”. I’ll have to check with my brother on that.

But I cannot fully relate to the discussion because I never procreated. I had some chances and the plumbing works right but I could not see myself producing another me.

Ah daddy-hood and the joy of poopy diapers and projectile vomit. Late nights of constant crying and endless doctor visits. PTA meetings and teacher/parent conferences and continuous toys/games/clothing/sports requirements are what the “Daddy” creature endures, but they all say it is worth it. Then again what choice do you have if you are a stand-up guy and takes responsibility for your actions.

Imagine this?

No, this kid is not mine. He is my nephew at a very early age. This is the only picture you will ever see of me holding a child.

Don’t get me wrong I like children. Hey, I was one. At an early age though I came face-to-face with the consequences of what having a child would bring so I tried to avoid it. Besides being a “Daddy” is too much responsibility for a kid still growing up.

So I respect those who are called “Daddy” because you had to deal with these sorts of questions.

“This American Life” (2/3/2013):

Daddy: “It all began at Christmas two years ago, when my daughter was four-years-old. And it was the first time that she'd ever asked about what did this holiday mean? And so I explained to her that this was celebrating the birth of Jesus. And she wanted to know more about that. We went out and bought a kids' bible and had these readings at night. She loved him. Wanted to know everything about Jesus.

So we read a lot about his birth and his teaching. And she would ask constantly what that phrase was. And I would explain to her that it was, "Do onto others as you would have them do unto you." And we would talk about those old words and what that all meant.

And then one day we were driving past a big church and out front was an enormous crucifix.

She said, who's that?

And I guess I'd never really told that part of the story. So I had to sort of, yeah, oh, that's Jesus. I forgot to tell you the ending. Well, you know, he ran afoul of the Roman government. This message that he had was so radical and unnerving to the prevailing authorities of the time that they had to kill him. They came to the conclusion that he would have to die. That message was too troublesome.

It was about a month later, after that Christmas, we'd gone through the whole story of what Christmas meant. And it was mid-January, and her preschool celebrates the same holidays as the local schools. So Martin Luther King Day was off. I knocked off work that day and I decided we'd play and I'd take her out to lunch.

We were sitting in there, and right on the table where we happened to plop down, was the art section of the local newspaper. And there, big as life, was a huge drawing by a ten-year-old kid from the local schools of Martin Luther King.

She said, who's that?

I said, well, as it happens that's Martin Luther King. And he's why you're not in school today. So we're celebrating his birthday, this is the day we celebrate his life.

She said, so who was he?

I said, he was a preacher.

And she looks up at me and goes, for Jesus?

And I said, yeah, actually he was. But there was another thing that he was really famous for. Which is that he had a message.

And you're trying to say this to a four-year-old. This is the first time they ever hear anything. So you're just very careful about how you phrase everything.

So I said, well, yeah, he was a preacher and he had a message.

She said, what was his message?

I said, well, he said that you should treat everybody the same no matter what they look like.

She thought about that for a minute. And she said, well that's what Jesus said.

And I said, yeah, I guess it is. You know, I never thought of it that way, but yeah. And it is sort of like "Do onto others as you would have them do unto you."

And she thought for a minute and looked up at me and said, did they kill him, too?”

The “L” word

Since it is the season when the flowers come out and the cards are mailed and special gifts are given to that significant other, I decided to observe the “L” word.

We all use the “L” word. Songs are written about it. Books are written about it. Movies are written about it. Poems are based on it.

The “L” word has it’s own holiday and it’s color is red. There are balloons floating for the “L” word holiday and boxes of chocolates are handed out for the “L” word holiday. 

People get dressed up for the “L” word holiday and go out dancing and celebrating the one-day of the year they can tell each other the “L” word as marked on the calendar.

Now the “L” word can be celebrated on New Years night or Christmas or birthdays or anniversaries or for any other reason, but this one day in February is a special day set aside just to celebrate it’s existence. 

Not to say I’ve never heard the “L” word. I seen the “L” word and have even sang songs with the “L” word, but I’ve also sang the “G” word and the “D” word and sometimes even the “J” word. 

Also not to say I don’t understand the emotion that presents the “L” word. It is one of the strongest and reinforced words that when said will bring a tear to the eye and the lump to the throat. 

The “L” word is in all the religions but their descriptions do not match their actions. The “L” word is thrown around to people who are barely known by one-another only to get a reaction or perhaps more. 

The “L” word is even a description to your significant other. The family throws out the “L” word to bond together and we even use the “L” word for our animals that also share our space. The “L” word is even used to get out of trouble.

What? You don’t know what the “L” word is?

Now I could go on for pages about what this season of cold weather can produce, since most of us Scorpions were consummated here, but the “L” word is reserved for this month. 

Of course you know everything about the “L” word and use it at appropriate times to accomplish the meaning and perhaps create a bond. 

What? You are still not sure what I’m talking about?

Forget all the hearts all over the walkway into your house or the rose pedals on the bed or the sweet scents in the air or the dainty night’s enticing the “L” word. Forget all the holding hands in the park or soft looks at the moon.

The “L” word is about what we really want.

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Lust is an emotion or feeling of intense desire in the body. The lust can take any form such as the lust for knowledge, the lust for sex or the lust for power. It can take such mundane forms as the lust for food as distinct from the need for food. Lust is a powerful psychological force producing intense wanting for an object, or circumstance fulfilling the emotion. Many religions separate the definition of passion and lust by further categorizing lust as type of passion for something that does not belong to oneself.