You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm' category.
Find your bliss.
Sounds like something I’d read on the inside of a Dove chocolate wrapper.
But if I don’t know what it is, how do I find it and would I know it when it pops up.
According to Dictionary.com, bliss is defined as “supreme happiness; utter joy and contentment”.
Hmmm.
I’ve heard of A Love Supreme (thank you, John Coltrane) and Diana Ross and The Supremes. But supreme happiness? Is there such a thing, ans what do you need to accomplish to achieve it? Can mere mortals hope to find supreme happiness or is it like nirvana, only met when certain conditions are overcome? ANd should we have to work that hard to achieve it?
Find your bliss? How? When?
These are questions I’ve pondered while making my way through the haze and hubris of my life. If we can identify those special moments, unique places, and interesting people in our lives as blissful, then I can understand the concept. I can recall the amazing places and people I’ve encountered. Whether or not they are blissful is up for debate.
I can recall a handfull of blissful moments:
1. the births of my children. No further explanation.
2. Both of my visits to Scotland. It’s proof that there are places in the world where one feels completely at home. I sensed that this was a place where I felt truly intigrated with my surroundings. What’s wonderful is that I’ve only scratched the surface of what I could’ve experienced.
3. Standing atop Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park. I’ve done it so many times and, yet, every time I do it’s like the first time.
4. Flying down the Hudson River, on approach to LaGuardia airport in New York City. I was flying down to take a physical when I was hired at American. We were in a Saab 340B turbo prop, and the tower had given the captain permission to take the “river approach”. One moment I’m looking out back towards Connecticut, then next we’re banking hard left and I’m staring at the Statue of Liberty from above. We flew just off the tip of Manhattan. I could see the World Trade Center. I could look over Manhattan and see the Empire State Building, Chrysler Building and other New York landmark buildings. I’ve flown in and out of LaGuardia many times since and have never taken that route since. It cetainly can’t be done now.
5. Any day at the beach. I prefer early morning or late afternoon. Being near the water is the best feeling. It must be something primative. I can sit and listen to the sound of the waves, and feeling the calm move through me. It’s always a toss-up whenever I ponder the eternal Powerball question: “beach house or lake house?”
There are more. I can’t recall them at the moment. Some I won’t reveal. They were shared moments between myself and someone special.
‘Nuff said.
These are moments in my life where I have been touched so deeply. I have been blessed and these connections have helped shape me. Where will I find my bliss? I guess it’s something you cannot create out of nothing. Like love, it comes to you at the appropriate moment in time. It finds you.
Here I am, come get me.
Here’s a quickie…
While driving to the library, I saw a gorgeous late 20’s Ford Model A. Not built for speed, however, as it slowly made it’s way up the hill on State Street. Black, well-cared for and full of style.
Driver was talking on his cellphone.
I may be the only one who finds this amusing, but I did find it odd. I’m so used to seeing people in current models with the cell glued to their ear. But in an antique car?
Talk about the violent clash of technology and history…..
My Son and I are watching the Patroits game Sunday afternoon and I was apalled. It had nothing to do with the play on the field, nothing to do with a comment made by the broadcasters. It was what was happening at Gillette Stadium.
It was snowing. It was October 18 and it was snowing in New England.
That’s disgusting.
I’m a firm believer that certain events should occur in appropraite times. I believe that the Christmas decorations can be put up the day after Thanksgiving, not after Halloween. I believe that nobody cares if you wear white after Labor Day. I believe that, if the ground is clear and the sun is out, you should be able to play golf in January, regardless if there are temporary greens or not. I believe that it should not snow (at lower elevations) in New England until mid-November.
But there it was, wet flakes making a slushy, slippery playing surface.
Football should be played in snow. It adds another element to help level the playing field. When I was in fifth grad, our teacher played touch football with us. He’d organized games at recess when it would snow. I remember playing center with snow up to my knees. It’s easier on the body to get knocked around when you have a fluffy. Football was meant to be played outdoors. As opposed to domed-stadium football, where it may be warm but it eliminates the weather as a factor. Folks in Minnesota had to freeze at Metropolitan Stadium while watching the Vikings before they got a domed stadium. Folks in Green Bay still tough it out in cold Wisconsin weather and they’re proud of it. No dome for them.
I’m not as huge a football fan as some people are. I love watching high school football. Speaking of which, this Friday is The Battle of The Bridge between the Red Riots and Portland Bulldogs. This has been the traditional last game of the regular season for both schools. The winner gets to decorate the bridge in their school colors. It’s been lean for the past ten years or so. Portland has beaten the Red Riots more often than not and that makes Red Riots fans frustrated. This year, both clubs are evenly matched with two explosive running backs on either side. I can’t wait. This year’s game will be played only a fifteen minute walk from my apartment.
Aside from high school ball and the Patriots, football for me, isn’t the fanatical passion it is for most people. I don’t play fantasy leagues. I don’t own team gear. I don’t tailgate or have huge parties on Sundays. Not even for the Super Bowl. I would tailgate if there were a place to do it. I just enjoy football in season and just as a game, not a lifestyle.
Back to the S-word.
When I brought my daughter home last night, it was still snowing and the ground was white. Big, wet flakes pounded the windshield. So, having a little fun, I started singing Chirstmas carols. This put my daughter over the edge. I was just kidding and so was she, but she agrees with me that it was too early for snow. She went on this rant about the snow, but I knew it was for show. With every carol I sang, she told me I was going to Hell. That was for effect, too.
But going to Hell for singing Christmas carols? Please.
When I woke up this morning, the snow was all gone. That sounds like a blues lyric. Where’s my harmonica (wa-wah-wah-wa).
I was happy to see the sun shining this morning and the ground covered with red and orange leaves. Yeah, it was a bit chilly. I’ll take that, but no snow, please.
Snow, snow, go away. Don’t show your face until we’re good and ready. At least let the leaves fall.
It is the end of the workday, but not the end of my week. I would love to be able to sleep in tomorrow, maybe fix a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and go wherever thewind will take me.
But, sadly, so. I’ll be up way-too-early when the majority of the world is enjoying a relaxing start to the weekend.
This will be one of those posts that has something for everyone. Maybe not everyone. How about 4 out of five dentists? Choosy mothers? The Pepsi generation?
Alright, enough.
Tonight is the last home game for the Red Riots football team. So far, they are 4-2 with tonight’s game vs. Gorham, then The Battle of the Bridge. I found out yesterday that My Son sustained a concussion during practice. He failed the computer tests that are conducted with potential cranial injury but was told he could be back for the last game of the regular season. I understand that football is not a gentile sport, that injuries happen. But how does a kid sustain multiple blows to the head..IN PRACTICE. I understand he’s disappointed he may not be able to play for awhile.
My Daughter and I had a great dinner last night. Since we have a similar sense of humor, we can get silly and that’s how it was last night. The spaghetti stayed on the plates and there are no stains in the rug or on the couch cushions. I cherish times like this when I can be Dad instead of her Father.
A good friend tipped me off to an interesting concept. It’s called Meet Up (www.meetup.com ) and there are all kinds of groups where people can socialize. If you are into cooking, coffee, wine, adventure activities or just want to meet people, there are groups for all that and more. I found a writers group that I wanted to join. But I was detained while picking up My Son from his team dinner last night, so I missed the beginning. Actually, I missed the whole thing. I went to the address provided on the website, but when I rang the doorbell, no one responded. Bummer. I’ll have to arrive earlier next week.
One of the things I will need to change, whenever I start dating again, will be to forget what I knew with My Love. I have to re-learn how to date. Not so much the flowers/dinner or a movie/kiss at the door stuff. Instead I need to change how I think about the structure of the relationship. I will want to date someone who isn’t balancing another relationship against ours, but I want to be able to focus on the present. I want to take it step-by-step, savouring getting to know her. I want to be secure with myself and my life so I’m not so quick for exclusivity. I don’t want to define myself by the relationship. I am a LONG way off from dating again, despite desiring the intimacy of a relationship.
I am loving internet radio. I’ve logged into Free Form BCN several times this week while at work. I love the idea of not know what song you’ll hear next. Having worked in radio, I know what good radio sounds like and I haven’t heard it for awhile. It’s where the DJ’s had personality; they identified with their audience, could program their shows and select the music. It’s easy now to tune up and down the dial and hear the same presentation, just different music. They tell you the same thing no matter the format. Every station is ”playing a better mix of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s”, “more variety, less talk”…..you get the idea. Now that I’ve discovered internet radio and can pinpoint music that matters to me, the only use for the radio will be news/weather and the ballgame. That’s actually kinda sad.
I will not be dressing up for Halloween. I’ve never been big on the holiday. maybe it was the pressure of finding an original costume. My best costume was a Christoper Columbus outfit, complete with crushed velvet cap and ragmop hair. My mother made it from scratch. You don’t get much of that anymore. As I grew older, it was just a day when you got lots of free candy. A few years I had to “Trick or Treat for UNICEF”. Usually we got the boxes in our Sunday school classes and were expected to return them on the Sunday following Halloween. That activity reminds me of the scene in Woody Allen’s “Radio Days”, an autobiographical film about growing up during World War II. The scene takes place during Hebrew school class. These Jewish boys are sent out by their rabbi, to collect funds to promote a Jewish home in Palestine. Being kids, they end up taking some of the money and spending a portion on candy, ice cream or Secret Avenger Decoder Rings. The young Woody gets hauled up in front of the rabbi by his parents. Do you remember collecting for UNICEF? How many of you skimmed a little off the top? Did some of it end up in the till of the neighborhoodstore? Do I see a few hands rising hesitantly? C’mon, ‘fess up. But don’t worry because it’s ancient history, you won’t be held accountable.
It’s too damn cold for this time of year. Where’s Indian Summer? Where are the temperatures in the mid-50’s?
Enjoy your weekend no matter where you are. Hopefully, there will be lots of color, interesting people, and stuff to make you go “hmmmmm”.
I haven’t done this in years, I mutter to myself.
Put one foot on the pedal, swing the other leg over and start peddling. Easy to remember, right?
Did you think I would fall flat on my ass? No.
For the longest time, I have wanted to ride the carriage paths at Acadia. I knew about them when my family started visiting the park in the 60’s. I knew that the land used to belong to John D. Rockefeller, and that he built the roads so that he could drive his carriage and horses. Later, the land was donated to the National Park Service and now we get to enjoy the wonderful stone bridges, challenging terrain and spectacular views. There are more than 50 miles of trails and I was not prepared to ride more than 8.
I wasn’t sure which route I should take so I dropped in at the visitor center for some advice. I’m not proud. I’ll admit that I ask for directions. Women, make a note. I know this something that you find frustrating about men.
The helpful guide showed me a moderate ride around Jordan and Bubble Pond. She sent me in the direction with the least number of steep grades. I guess she looked at me and knew I wasn’t a hard-core cyclist. I guess it was because I didn’t have the screaming yellow reflective jacket. Sorry, I’m not Lance Armstrong. I don’t even own a helmet. SHAMEFUL!
Get over yourselves. There are cyclists all over Europe, everyday people from cultures that prefer bicycles, who bike to work and don’t wear a helmet. It’s part of the culture. I never saw people wearing helmets when I was in Holland.
There are two ways to access the carriage road. You can buy a park pass which allows you entrance to the park. This option affords all the good parking and easy access to the trails. The second is to park at the visitor center. But this option means you have to ride up a steep incline, which is murder on your legs, and leaves to too pooped to pedal once you reach the trails. The upside is a thrilling ride back down to the parking lot. Just be careful and pump your brakes, otherwise you’ll fly over the handle bars. Been there, done that, Mom picked gravel out of my back for close to an hour.
It took awhile for my body to realize that it was getting more than just casual excercise. I could tell by the sweat beads on my forehead after 30 minutes. And the temperature was in the low 60s with a light breeze. But once I was on the move, it was the most satisfying thing I’ve had, aside from a sexual experience.
My head cleared out, preventing my allergies from ruining the start of ride. My senses began to work overtime. I could smell the pitch of pine trees. I could smell the water from the ponds. Not a sulfur smell from some fresh water, but the smell I remembered from swimming at nearby Echo Lake. You know the smell: slightly metallic, but clean. You’d know it if you ever took a snootful while horsing around while at the lake. The freshening breeze, hinting at the approaching autumn, wicked away the sweat and kept me cool.
If I had better riding skills, I would’ve taken my hands off the handlebars, lifted my eyes skyward, and spread my arms out wide, as if to offer myself to Mother Earth. I was so grateful for the opportunity to be back in a place that meant so much to me. To be able to surround myself with natural beauty was a gift I couldn’t ignore.
I did say a small prayer of thanks. After the crap I’ve been through with the divorce and the break-up, I needed a spiritual renewal, and Acadia was there to give it to me. How could I not be thankful?
The other gift that was given was the exchange of greetings between myself and the riders coming from the opposite direction. When walking in public, we, as a society, will walk past people and not give them the time of day. We avert our eyes, staring at the sidewalk or blankly at nothing at all. But as I biked the carriage paths, I felt a renewed hope for my fellow humans. We were sharing a common experience, and part of that experience was the recognition and acknowledgment we offered each other. I spent that riding smiling like an idiot, pleased that I was able to say hello and have the greeting returned. Those feelings of satisfaction only enhanced the experience.
I was also thankful that my bike had 21 gears. I do not have bikers legs, although The Ex- once told me I had well-porportioned legs. Whatever that means. I guess it meant was I could wear shorts and not embarrass myself. I really don’t pay much attention to how my body looks. Those legs got more than their fair share of expercise when I had to shift gears to manage the more challenging portions of the ride. I kept telling myself to keep moving. I did stop a couple times during the ride to avoid fatigue, which was a smart choice. I had visions of having my legs cramp up at a remote portion of the ride, and I knew I didn’t have cell coverage.
I returned to the ride, pausing again at Jordan Pond for some lunch. As I sat on a fallen tree, I enjoyed my ham and cheese sandwich while drinking in the amazing beauty stretched out in front of me.
It’s a fact: even a peanut butter sandwich tastes better when you throw in the peaceful vistas of Acadia (or any natural setting). The colors hadn’t come out in full force yet. When I was up on Cadillac Mountain after my ride, some of the birches had started turning, along with some bushes. I pausedfor awhile on Cadillac. The wind had picked up once I reached the summit, but it was stimulating and I ignored the chill. My mind took me back to my childhood and the wonderful days spent in the park.
The one downer would have to be the gift shops. They are almost everywhere, especially where there is a parking lot. All kinds of high-priced junk. But I will admit I did buy a 8×10 print, a Deco-influenced print of the view from Cadillac Mountain. For $8, it was a steal. It is now proudly hanging in my Hole In The Ground.
It was a wonderful journey, one of many to come. As much as I wanted to stay in Acadia longer, I needed to move on. I’ll be back next year and maybe more than just one time. I know that I appreciate Acadia and often wonder how often I would visit if I lived closer. I’d be happy to live on Mount Desert Island.
Light breaks on Marble Head.
Or in this case, a Middle-Aged Head.
These a-ha moments come at the most inopportune times. It’s usually when you least expect them, which also makes them more relevant. You can receive the solution more clearly than when fixed on the problem.
The Woman Who Broke My Heart will NOT be coming back.
And HOW LONG did it take to figure that one out?
Sometimes it takes awhile for the inevitable to manifest itself. I remembered what she had written to me concerning my heart. She said that she wanted me to have someone love me the way I had loved her. She couldn’t love me the way she wanted, the way she felt I deserved to be loved. It was true love, but not the “happily ever after” kind of love. She is concerned for my wellbeing and, as painful as it’s been, she needed to let me go so I could find what I deserved.
Yes, it’s still scary because I do miss her and care for her. But it was also the fear that something great was slipping away. It was great for it’s time. But now is the time to move forward.
I still fear the idea of being alone, but that won’t be forever. There is someone out there for me.
Now begins the journey to find her.
p.s. To the Woman Who Broke My Heart: you are my friend. I have been truely blessed having shared my life with you. I hope you are happy and are finding the balance you deserve. I still love you with all my heart, but know that you want something better for me. Thank you.
My early-morning walks to work tend to be un-eventful. They are quiet, short and savored events. I like to hear seagulls overhead or the sound of passing vehicles on 295. I like the early-morning light, especially when it hits a brick building just right, giving it a glow.
This morning was not unlike any other morning. On this morning, I happened to notice a woman walking in the same direction, on the opposite side of the street. She seemed ordinary, dressed in a tanktop, shorts and sandals. I noticed her as I turned the corner from my building. We walked in the same direction and we reached the end of the street, she was contantly on her cellphone for that entire time. Nothing unusual, right? You see people all day, every day, talking on their cellphones.
As I observed her, I wondered: Who’s she talking to, and why conduct a conversation for fifteen minutes or more this early in the morning? At 6:30am, most people are either getting ready for work or are on their way to work. What is that important that warrants a phone call this early? Me? I have all I can do to just get ready for work. Don’t mix in a phone call ’cause that slows me down.
So, I have come to the conclusion that cellphones are the new security blanket.
You need it, you gotta have it and you can’t live without it.
It used to be coffee was the new security blanket. For some folks, it still is. The majority of people do the Java Jive on their way to work. Or at least five or six times a day. Why do you see people rushing around like mindless freaks. They’re hopped up on the bean. And they have to keep feeding their craving or the must endure the dreaded Caffeine Headache. You just can’t give it up. You have to be weaned off it. The side effects are just not pretty.
I’m just on the outside looking in. I don’t do Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts, or Green Mountain Coffee. I’m not a part of the culture. I just don’t drink that much coffee. Ordering a coffee is too complicated. I don’t care if it’s tall, short, extra foam, double-shot or not. I drink it only when I eat out for breakfast, preferrably at a local diner. Just pour me a cup, give me the sugar and cream, and I’ll sip it while reading the paper and waiting for my break fast to arrive.
‘Nuff said.
Now, instead of folks clitching their cardboard cups of insulated mugs on their way to work, they clutch their cellphones. That or they’re wedging the phone against their shoulder while going through the dive-thru, ordering a coffee.
What is the obcession with these phones? Free texts, anytime minutes, these phones have all the gadgets. And the applications. Will these phones give you a wipe on your way out of the loo? They’ll do everything else.
The rationale is “I need to be connected. How else will people be able to get ahold of me?” My philosophy is that it’s a phone. You use it to call people. You say what you need and get off the line. If I have nothing to say, the phone stays in the pocket. Why do I need to be connected? What is so important? I’ve seen grown men and women, on vacation, trying to relax and get away from their own piece of the rat race. But they have their phones, with the Blu-Tooth earpiece, talking away. They look like a more sporty version of the ragged man on the street that talks to himself. And they talk LOUD, usually about things I really don’t need to know. Aren’t you on vacation to get away from all that? Why bring all that stress with you?
What does it mean to be connected? Is it the ability to reach someone in an emergency? Is it the ability to call the restaurant ahead to find out the wait time for a table? Is it to get directions to get to Aunt Shirley’s house?
Or is it the ability to chat endlessly with someone who saw just a few hours ago? What happened in that span of time that made that call so urgent? Could it wait? Maybe you might want to mix in some others details of events that happened while you were gone.
Maybe you should’ve just turned off the phone. So it doesn’t ring. And you can do things without being interrupted. Things that you can talk about with someone.
Or maybe you should try this novel idea: take a walk, or get in your car, to go visit that friend. Knock on the door and say, “Hi! I thought I’d come over to see you and we could talk.”
It’s a pathetic world we live in when our idea of being connected to the people we care about depends on technology. Don’t misunderstand me: I’ll all for the latest technological advances in telecommunications. But when did “connected” just mean people at opposite ends of a wire? I can see using your computer, webcam and microphone to commuicate with someone far away. But most of the people we, as a society, want to be connected to are in our own communities. Some of them next door.
People used to sit outside their homes and talk with each other. If your neighbor comes home from a trip, they’d go over to the house, once they saw the car in the drive, because they wanted to welcome them home and find out about the trip. Folks would talk about their day while getting their mail at the post office. The latest news and gossip would be shared face-to-face. People knew you and spoke to you. They recognized your face. They gathered at churche suppers, grange halls, fire stations and filling stations. They were part of a communiity.
I know that the tech geeks will question this. There is a community that technology creates. Between Tweeter, emails, text messages and IM, the options are almost endless for communication.
It’s all how you use that technology. My response would be do we need to know everything that a person does at any given point to the day? It’s the Facebook Syndrome. Is it so important to communicate that “I am eating a piece of blueberry pie” as you are eating it? Tell me about it when you’re finished, or better still, if you have any left over, bring it over and share it with me.
This could be easily misunderstood as a rant against technology. I say, it’s a lament. We are loosing the opportunites to create community. It isn’t how many people are in your friends list. It isn’t about how big your address book is, either. It’s about caring about our friends, family and neighbors, enough so that we make the choice to make that connection, and give it meaning.
I dislike opening my email and finding forwards and endless jokes. Sure, it’s nice to be remembered. It’s a gesture. But when was the last time you forwarded a joke, but also included a short note. Something like, “Hi, I thought you might like a good laugh. How are things? Tell me what’s going on.” It keeps it from being a part of a chain. It’s a small gift.
We have been a society that has locked each other out. We feel safe within our own four walls and we want to keep the rest of the world out. Fewer and fewer families are sitting down to an evening meal to talk about their day. We are so busy taking the kids to soccer ( or hockey or football or ballet or scouts), multi-tasking for charity, or fundraising, that we forget about what is the most important thing: connecting with each other.
“Come on, people now/ smile on your brother/ everybody get together/Try to love one another right now” – Jesse Collin Young
“Reach out and touch somebody’s hand/Make this world a better place/If you can” – Diana Ross
Ah, there’s nothing like a relaxing lunch. Except at The Big City Hospital, where I have a half hour to Kobiashi a couple of sandwiches down and then it’s back to the floors. But I’ve never pounded down a tray full of hot dogs at Coney Island, either.
Here are some random thoughts from the morning:
A song-inspired memory: 1977 Stevie Wonder, album “Innervisions”, had a crush on a quiet girl from choir, Carol Wright, she turned me on to Stevie and Tower of Power.
Off the news wire: pediatrician claims that the leading cause of injury to high school athletes is….cheerleading.
Why is it that morning after the Wednesday Powerball is drawn is always the happiest part of the week ?
As someone who enjoys writing and reading, I ask, ”why is manga considered literature?” It’s a comic book.
last night’s golf league score: a lousy 50, down from a 43 last week. Too many flubbed shots and I scored 6 on both par 3s.
I know that other stuff will pop into my head throughout the day. I’ll return and drop a post for your consideration.
Oh, one last thing: regarding The Woman Who Broke My Heart: I suspect she may have glanced at this blog on occasion. Would it be appropriate to call her, or let her discover how my life without her has moved on through these posts?
