If I Were You ….

Giving opinions is one of the reasons we talk to one another. One person replies to another statements with a similar life experience or personal suggestion. These sharing moments can bond us together forming lasting relationships. Sometimes a life changing moment can be realized by a few words.

To some, the ones we trust with our inner most thoughts, we cherish the comments, sometimes learning while other times are comforted.

Now the closest of friends do not ask deep meaningful questions and expect thoughtful answers as in our innocent youth. The proper response is to participate in a conversation without delving into personal space.

Others may give similar references, but they are ignored or curiously contemplated then discarded.

Some comment to boast of triumphs hoping the other will follow. Some comment to expand in detail a personal reflection. Some will just give an option, whether requested or not, as a sign of knowledgeable prestige.

We seem to enjoy forming other people into our own views. Interpretations of words molded by ones own values do not always match the unknown.

If not this, what else do we talk about?

Politics and religion are out of bounds hitting too many pressure points. Weather, sports, fashion, and entertainment subjects are quickly forgotten as the talking heads on the screen. Family comparisons rewards self accomplishments projected through members of the same clan.

At the end of the day, we separate back into our confines to evaluate, analyze, and perceive others through a word or a phrase.

Perhaps actions are loader than words.

Over the past two years, I have had few conversations, yet I listen more intently. Trying to relate what I know or knew about someone else, I hear easy conversation of clothing, money, transportation, work, and family; but it is not the same. Is there nothing of substance to talk about?

Real meaningful conversation is like love making. You must work slowly into it. If the results are shared, both are fulfilled with a new understanding of one another, but if a common ground can not be found, neither will want for more dialog.

Excuses of time, alcohol, or interruptions attempt to blur the barriers we build around ourselves. Whatever the motive, self preservation or contempt, we do not read our life’s script, we only paraphrase.

Then again, “if I were you, I’d…”

What Are You Afraid Of?

The words fill the brain as you go across the room, hands wet with anticipation, to ask a stranger to dance.

One of the earliest human encounters; struggled through with the fear of rejection and primed by peer pressure.

Some fear is learned from personal experience, while others are taught. Our religions are based on fear. Crime would be more prominent if not for the fear of reprisal.

But our species thrive on fear.

The adrenalin rush overcomes us as we survive an open railcar traveling on flimsy structures, so we can share the common experience with others. Movies packed with scenes of extraordinary happenings and characters created to scare the viewer, not to panic, but to present high anxiety.

Perhaps it is the thrill of the adventure and conquering it, or maybe when left to our own devices, we become bored with the mundane day-to-day existence.

Fear keeps us from touching fire, avoiding animals that would have us for dinner, and running away from danger, but is it a primeval instinct or a common sense reaction.

Do we fear going to the grocery store full of strangers who may be in every variation of mental and physical health, picking up packages handled by unknown hands, unaware of structural deficiencies of the structure and paying for the privilege to invade the space for a short period of time. Each person pushing a cart could be on the edge of personal conflict, yet we all congregate to choose sustenance.

Every day is an unknown to fear or cherish. If afraid of existence, withdrawal into a sanctum of paranoia spirals into the darkness and the darkness of night brings the blackness. As with other creatures, we rest our bodies until the sun awakes us from unimaginable thoughts and visions our minds produces in random selection.

Maybe the most fearful conclusion would not be outside, but inside our own being.

BOO!

The Stranger

What used to be described as a hobo, a bum, a vagabond, or a tramp; I see a young man dressed in a heavy winter coat carrying a backpack, walking aimlessly through the neighborhood.

It is not a frightening sight, just a curious experience.

As I pass, he sits on the curb, seemingly enjoying a lunch in the sunshine on this cold winter day. His coat is open and his shirt unbuttoned soaking in the warmth of the sunshine. He seems unaware of my presence or no caring that I have invaded his space of contentment.

He may be a student who has stopped on the way to school for refreshment. He could be a homeless wanderer who, as so many others, path their step one at a time. He could live in the neighborhood, unknown to me, exploring the day as I am on wheels.

His appearance is not alarming, almost clean cut and healthy. I look down at my own apparel, realizing what I wear for comfort may appear to others as disheveled. Perhaps we follow a similar path?

This encounter brings back memories of clean cut presentations with sharply pressed tux and witty conversation. The effort to conform to a class of people who were neither engaging nor interesting in their behavior, ideas, or existence only proved to bore me.

Without fear of evaluation, rejection, or reprisal; some are honest and those interactions are rare and valued.

I did not see the stranger today, but wish him well in his adventure and hope him a safe journey.

Where Do We Come From?

A friend wrote an interesting introspective blog on his move to the city where we met and it started me thinking of my parent’s journey to rest in this location.

Like so many other boomers, our parents went through the war and rationing and in some cases the depression. In my case, even the roaring 20’s with its wild abandonment became the theme song for my father and mother’s adventure.

All I have is a few photos to piece together a history that was never talked about.

There was perhaps a musical demon, which burnt in both of them that the war snuffed out. Perhaps it was a life long dream for fame and fortune, coming close, but never able to grasp the ring.

We try not to think of the struggles of our “Moms” and “Dads”; their dreams, needs, and desires. We only think of them as providers. They gave us a shelter, food, clothing, education, and toys (to replace whatever it is to be a parent) without regard for their own wants.

Looking back at my own recollection, coming to this town in the 50’s and never really struggling for anything, I am a boomer who’s parents provided the comfort of a dull and boring, safe decade, where A-bombs, commies and space aliens were my biggest fears.

Everything changed in the 60’s, but by then, my parents were too weary or perhaps wise, to bother with what was happening with their children.

Their last years, which are mine now, could have been a new discovery of each other and the world around them, yet I feel they had grown oblivious of the surrounding, only to live in past memories.

Were the earlier times that much better, or did they just not want to face a deeming furthers?

They both left an interesting legacy that will fade with time, but they did the best they could.

Taking Yourself Out

After months of dust, noise, and human traffic, I decided to take myself out before hunkering down during the next cold wave.

First of all, I don’t go out of the house unless there is a reason. A morning ride, a trip to the grocery store, a deposit to the bank are the usual excuses, but today the main reason for leaving the security of four walls is to buy curtains.

I know, what a girlie thing to do. Curtains? What?? A guy can’t shop for curtains? I had even checked them out earlier so I knew what I wanted and where to find them.

Instead of riding through the chill, I decided to walk. Strapped on my winter boots, threw on the wool coat and wandered off into the sunshine.

On the way, I went over my “to-do” list in my head. One of the items was to check out the local gym, so I plot my path to cross that item off my list. A view of the new pool, the machines, showers and weights gave me the idea that $1 a day for health might be a good investment.

Moving on to the local home decoration center I got lost looking for the style I had agreed on in my mind. Slowly avoiding the carts and babies and other lost men, I found the selection was just right for my wants, yet I continued to look at kitchen items (even without a kitchen), adding a pair of knives to my cart.

Figuring I didn’t get out much, I decided to move to my other passion, electronics. Not needing or even wanting any new electrical item, I quickly cruised pass the iPods, phones, and flat-screen televisions when I was stopped by a Sony boom box. I had purchased one last month for the bedroom and had only used it once, so I only paused for a moment, then walked to the check out.

Now completely warmed up by the exercise and the hot store, I didn’t get fully covered for the weather, but decided to stop in a nearby bookstore. Again, not needing or wanting anything, I perused the aisles looking at the glossy pictures and covers designed to catch the eye. I hadn’t been in this particular store in over a year. These shelves lined my life with memories of a weekly wander and time to communicate and share time.

Preparing to head for home, I decided to take a different route and try out a new restaurant. Step-by-step up the familiar byway next to the hospital an abandoned school; a crowded lamp shop that interrupted my thoughts. My “to-do” list came back to mind, reminding me of the overhead lights in the bedrooms.

I wedged my way into the tiny shop filled with chandeliers, brass and glass dangling things, fireplace screens, shades all packed and stacked to form a fire hazard. The storekeeper was on the phone so I gazed at all the hoarded materials feeling cramped and overwhelmed. The lack of acknowledgment and the lengths of the conversation guaranteed I would not spend money here. Finally the shopkeeper broke off from his personal business and with an indignant attitude described how he could provide me with a custom-made glass shade I had described. He was more intent on telling me that his crowded shop specialized in providing antiques to the wealthy. I left with a badly designed brochure full of different fonts and typos yet feeling sad for his poor customer relations.

Onto the plastic covered patio, I gazed into the door of the reformatted grill and was surprised to see every booth was filled. With no real desire to eat on a drafty porch, I started to leave when a woman in a black t-shirt warmly welcomed me informing me there were more tables next door. The former redneck hole in the wall had expanded.

Resting my feet and removing my heavy coat, I took in the remodeling job. It wasn’t a fern bar, but it did capture more of the “west end” feel. Perhaps that is why it was full. The menu looked good with a variety of simple dishes and the tap had a nice selection. The young waitress took my request and appeared to be attentive to several tables, continuing to smile.

Examining the small bar, new tables, paint job and large television screens, it appeared this had become a regular spot in the neighborhood for the college and young professional crowd. Gone were the signs on the ceiling and the construction workers having their Buds for breakfast. The sandwich was well made and filling and though I couldn’t quiet see the televisions, I commented to the waitress that this might become a regular spot for me too.

Unfortunately, once home, I kept thinking about the Sony boom box, so I climbed on my trusty steed and wandered back, not wanting to lose out on a deal. This time, instead of just one, there were four boxes. I grabbed my prize to replace a fading and frustrating CD player and reveled in my adventures and treasures.

A full day of new adventures.

The next day was just as cold and blistery, but with the sun shining, I decided to take myself out again. Two days in a row of this wild behavior.

Instead of going west, I headed east. There was no particular destination, just wandering to see where I wound up. I thought about taking a stroll down Cary Street, but continued straight on to the Boulevard.

I had told myself I should visit the museum more often, so here I was. My coat grew heavy and the rooms were warm, but I took my time and enjoyed the company of Pablo and Maxfield and few others. Did anything inspire me? We’ll see.

After my restaurant excursion from the day before, I had used up my entertainment quota, yet I was getting tired from the walk and standing for several hours, so my better judgment told me I needed to nourish to revive my energy.

I walked by a deli owned by a friend but passed it up having already eaten greasy meat the day before. I tried to cross the street to explore an untried venue, but the traffic convinced me to continue onward.

A quick detour led me into a music shop to see if they carried any analog-to-digital interfaces (which they admittedly did not due to lacking technological knowledge), then another guitar shop to get the feel of a guitar I had wanted to play (which again was being played by an employee), so I left me empty handed and still hungry.

The corner pizza shop was full, so I pressed on. I was close enough to home, I could have waited, but I swung into an old haunt for a beer and lime, taco salad and conversation about a missing crossword puzzle in the newspaper.

Another day of surprises.

The next day, I tried a different path. The day’s goal on my "to-do" list was to check foundation vents at the local hardware store, but to get in a few miles before that decision need to be addressed.

I checked into another music shop that specializes in lessons, but has some guitars for sale. I had gone there shortly after they opened, but it was hot and I was sweaty and did not get a warm feeling from the management. I guess I wouldn’t want sweaty guys picking up my expensive guitars and getting them all wet either.

Charlie, an old friend from another guitar shop I frequent, and I started talking about local music, old songs, and different techniques. I made sure he and the disgruntled owner knew I was not purchasing today, but we had some laughs and tall tales.

When asked about an analog-to-digital interface, the quizzical looks told me this was not the place to discuss technology.

Arriving at the hardware store, I looked down several rows of metal objects all guaranteeing quick fixes to any problem. A helpful salesman showed me his selection and I left with a trial item and a ton of reminders of projects that lay ahead.

Again the goals were met and restful sleep came easy.

The next night, a friend of mine offered to transport me to yet another guitar shop while I continued my quest for the analog-to-digital interface (over a fee of sudsy liquid consumption ). While the guitar shop had a large selection of items, they did not have the one I was looking for. After resisting an offer to up grade to a similar item that cost more money but was in stock and seeing an old work buddy, my driver and I went back to the parking lot empty handed.

A nearby “Hooters” became the choice of nearby watering holes, and since I was a virgin to this establishment, I was apprehensive of the rumors. Did the girls there really look like the pictures passed around in the locker room? Inside it was warm wood and glass bar with wings, tots and pitchers. Not overly inviting, yet comfortable enough for a few laughs.

As usual, since I don’t go out much, I behaved badly or at least erratic to normal behavior. What the heck, there was no harm and she got a good tip.

So now the weather is getting colder and I’ve decided to hunker down this week. I’ve stocked up on necessaries and surrounded myself with in-door projects, but it was fun to just take a walk to nowhere in particular and have the time to enjoy it.

Oh, and the analog-to-digital interface?

I ordered it online. I should be here tomorrow.

Where’s The TV?

As in your very own home, nothing moves until the television is turned on.

First thing in the morning, the television is the excuse to find out what the latest breaking news, projected weather, and up-to-date traffic conditions that have occurred in the last few minutes that will affect our lives.

As coffee is prepared and outfits lay out as a preparation of the day’s assignments, the colors and flashes engulf the room like another living being.

Television has become another family member, waking us with pleasant looking people in well-prepared scripts to inform us over and over how their advertisers want to present what is called news, weather, sports, and entertainment to you.

All day, the images continue with game shows, talk shows, court shows, cooking shows and other conflicts between beings lacking skills for rightful employment. There is also an eminence volume of lawyers chasing ambulances and pharmaceutical manufactures products to entice the wary watching “daytime” tube.

After work, the television is welcomed as an old friend bringing the family together with its familiar message. All programming is designed to allow families to eat while watching, and then relax into a stupor of mindless dancing, stupid competitions, and violence.

With all the options of satellite and cable, the choices are endless, but the spectacular presentation overrides the quality of information.

The Internet has expanded a media realm of this beast, capturing eyes on laptops and phones with a never-ending waste of time, without interaction and deceptive withdrawal of communication between species.

So as the flicker fills the room in a soft blue light, does anyone remember how to turn the attack of this monster off?

Tomorrow the propaganda starts again, draining the human psyche into oblivion.

How Does You Garden Grow

What follows is how to grow a forest.
































































You get the idea?