For some reason I've been putting this off for most of the morning. The daunting proposal of thinking and writing and relaying the electrical signals from my brain to my fingers ergo thoughts into print weighed me down. I found myself doing everything at the computer except writing. I sort of feel like my mind is in a vacuum right now, the nature of thought and expression being sucked into a black hole leaving me empty and longing for the complicated nature of thought. Thought and expression.
This season of unemployment and searching inevitably leads to questions of identity and purpose. I wrote the other day that identity is closely tied to profession and that as a husband and father, i find a large portion of my identity wrapped in the medium by which i support my family. As that medium hangs in the balance it is true that a significant portion of how i identify myself is also hanging in the balance. It seems to me that this is where the vacuum is coming from. Stripped of purposeful work, stripped of a key identifier of my self, stripped of a small portion of my ability to actively express who i am and what I'm doing. Maybe.
My identity and personality are not entirely wrapped up in how i make a living. I would be a droll and grey man if that were the case. Perhaps I'm looking at it in the wrong way, but the restless feeling of discontent and frustration are a direct consequence of not working as though part of me is missing or incomplete. It does give me a chance to think about who I've become and who i want to be. A path of carpentry is not, necessarily, a bad path to walk. But, is it for me? Is that who i want to become?
I have a great hope that, as i start career counselling, i will be given the tools needed to redefine how i work--what i do to make a living--and in the process make conscious decisions about how i define myself. If, as i believe, a significant part of who i am is wrapped up in what i do, then this is a chance for me to redefine that man i am and the man i hope to become.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Returning Rain
I ran again yesterday. Ran last Tuesday, mt. biked Friday, indoor soccer on Sunday. I like the rhythm I've begun here. My body feels tired and sore but good all the same. Yesterdays run coincided with a return to rain here in the great green north and i felt my heart sink at the feeling of those first few drops of rain. It wasn't long before my truck, our car, the world around us was sprinkled damp by the cold winter rain and the grey clouds crept in with so little warning. I should have been expecting the cold damp weather to return, it is still February and winter still has claim to the world around me but the past week and a half have been phenomenal, sunny and warm, early spring days that materialized right here in the heart of winter.
My first year in Bellingham there was a foot of snow the last week of march, finals week at WWU. I won't complain, one of my finals that week was cancelled in favor of midterm grades, gotta love easy goin' lit. profs. The weather here is never what i expect. Long time Bellinghamsters will say it never snows in town, it rains all the time, and the summers are beautiful. Well, the summers are beautiful but it doesn't rain as much as the locals would have you believe. Yes, the winter months are dark and depressing and push me to the verge of darkness and fear--to the point where sunlight has to come before madness sets in. But the majority of the year it is green and bright. It just comes in two distinct blocks. Dark, rainy, and cold. Light, sunny, and warm. The snow issue is an interesting one, we didn't have much this year, but starting with the snow i alluded to a moment ago, every winter that i have been here has seen enough snow to shut down the town for a week. The failure of the local populace to recognize yearly snow fall as routine and regular year after year blows me away! Its like people live in the shadow of urban legends they've invented to make Bellingham unique and are afraid to recognize the greater effects of weather patterns on their lives. It would be funny if it wasn't so routinely pathetic.
As i write, i should note again that we haven't had significant snow this year, in town. The local ski are (Mt. Baker, check it out at www.mtbaker.us) has a pretty significant base--120 in.--and if conditions remain consistent they could be open well into April. A few thousand feet drastic elevation change is the dramatic difference between snow and rain.
So, today starts. It is cloudy and dark and it has been raining all night. I can hear the small metallic taps against the gutters and down the down spouts. I have no where to be, no where in particular to go. When the sun in shining, no matter the consequence or nature of life, things seem to be on track to work our okay. When the rain is falling and the sky is dark, well, the sunny outlook is hard to find.
My first year in Bellingham there was a foot of snow the last week of march, finals week at WWU. I won't complain, one of my finals that week was cancelled in favor of midterm grades, gotta love easy goin' lit. profs. The weather here is never what i expect. Long time Bellinghamsters will say it never snows in town, it rains all the time, and the summers are beautiful. Well, the summers are beautiful but it doesn't rain as much as the locals would have you believe. Yes, the winter months are dark and depressing and push me to the verge of darkness and fear--to the point where sunlight has to come before madness sets in. But the majority of the year it is green and bright. It just comes in two distinct blocks. Dark, rainy, and cold. Light, sunny, and warm. The snow issue is an interesting one, we didn't have much this year, but starting with the snow i alluded to a moment ago, every winter that i have been here has seen enough snow to shut down the town for a week. The failure of the local populace to recognize yearly snow fall as routine and regular year after year blows me away! Its like people live in the shadow of urban legends they've invented to make Bellingham unique and are afraid to recognize the greater effects of weather patterns on their lives. It would be funny if it wasn't so routinely pathetic.
As i write, i should note again that we haven't had significant snow this year, in town. The local ski are (Mt. Baker, check it out at www.mtbaker.us) has a pretty significant base--120 in.--and if conditions remain consistent they could be open well into April. A few thousand feet drastic elevation change is the dramatic difference between snow and rain.
So, today starts. It is cloudy and dark and it has been raining all night. I can hear the small metallic taps against the gutters and down the down spouts. I have no where to be, no where in particular to go. When the sun in shining, no matter the consequence or nature of life, things seem to be on track to work our okay. When the rain is falling and the sky is dark, well, the sunny outlook is hard to find.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
It Simply Is
This unemployed state of being leaves me frustrated and impatient. Going through the day (day three counting the weekend) at home, with no clear goal or task to accomplish, leaves me feeling, well, sick to some degree. The feeling must be what a caged predator feels like to a large extent. Fresh into captivity, prowling around the perimeter of its small cage, snarling, and licking its chops. It searches, intently, for an escape and slams its head against the walls of the cage to test the strength of what contains it. That is where I'm at. Fed, watered, sheltered, let out to exercise periodically, but the feeling of being caged and held against my will is over whelming and has boiled over.
We have been here before. About a year ago, work dried up in similar fashion and I found myself in a holding pattern on the prowl. This time i don't feel near the financial stress--though that is nagging--but more the absence of clear work and focus. Without a job to go to my mind takes in all the little tasks that could/should be done and spins out of control. I made a "to do" list, on Sunday, but so far I've just starred at it and nothing has been crossed out. It is sad, borderline pathetic, when changing the dead light bulbs gives me a lift of accomplishment. It isn't just on me this sense of impatience and falls, my family feels it all to sharply as well.
While I am not the model for paternal patience, i do enjoy doing small tasks with my older son. We can do small carpentry projects together or things around the house, or whatever may come up. And, when I'm working and have had the chance to channel energy, focus, and creativity into my work away from home i am refreshed, to a large degree, and the questions of a 5 1/2 yr. old are fun and inquisitive. Sadly, while I'm out of work, i find that i don't have the patience for endless questions and i crave and seek out the solitude of work, chances to be engrossed and consumed by the task at hand. The sense of burying myself in work is refreshing and recharging. As a father and husband, a man, a great deal of my identity is tied up in my job. When i am unemployed a portion of who i am is left fallow and becomes the predator desperate to escape.
A good friend of mine and i were talking the other day, kicking around my situation, and he believes that working hard, as husbands and fathers, to provide for our families is a biblical mandate--well maybe. It is necessary and generally unavoidable. And we do it because we want better lives for our families.
Being unemployed is no picnic, its not a vacation, or relaxing break at home. Unemployment insurance doesn't cover the bills and the prevailing notion that the ranks of the unemployed are so because of laziness and ignorance can/should be dropped. It maybe true that many milk the system and they truly are a drag on the economy and society at large. But the majority of the unemployed are so as a consequence of the economy, not their work ethic or personality.
It isn't our fault.
It isn't anyone's fault.
It simply is.
So, what now? I don't know but I'll try to begin figuring it out today.
We have been here before. About a year ago, work dried up in similar fashion and I found myself in a holding pattern on the prowl. This time i don't feel near the financial stress--though that is nagging--but more the absence of clear work and focus. Without a job to go to my mind takes in all the little tasks that could/should be done and spins out of control. I made a "to do" list, on Sunday, but so far I've just starred at it and nothing has been crossed out. It is sad, borderline pathetic, when changing the dead light bulbs gives me a lift of accomplishment. It isn't just on me this sense of impatience and falls, my family feels it all to sharply as well.
While I am not the model for paternal patience, i do enjoy doing small tasks with my older son. We can do small carpentry projects together or things around the house, or whatever may come up. And, when I'm working and have had the chance to channel energy, focus, and creativity into my work away from home i am refreshed, to a large degree, and the questions of a 5 1/2 yr. old are fun and inquisitive. Sadly, while I'm out of work, i find that i don't have the patience for endless questions and i crave and seek out the solitude of work, chances to be engrossed and consumed by the task at hand. The sense of burying myself in work is refreshing and recharging. As a father and husband, a man, a great deal of my identity is tied up in my job. When i am unemployed a portion of who i am is left fallow and becomes the predator desperate to escape.
A good friend of mine and i were talking the other day, kicking around my situation, and he believes that working hard, as husbands and fathers, to provide for our families is a biblical mandate--well maybe. It is necessary and generally unavoidable. And we do it because we want better lives for our families.
Being unemployed is no picnic, its not a vacation, or relaxing break at home. Unemployment insurance doesn't cover the bills and the prevailing notion that the ranks of the unemployed are so because of laziness and ignorance can/should be dropped. It maybe true that many milk the system and they truly are a drag on the economy and society at large. But the majority of the unemployed are so as a consequence of the economy, not their work ethic or personality.
It isn't our fault.
It isn't anyone's fault.
It simply is.
So, what now? I don't know but I'll try to begin figuring it out today.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wanted: Lazy, dishonest, and unreliable person to join my growing and dynamic team.
I've been doing a lot of job searching lately. Mostly online, in between bouts of email and web surfing, trolling craigslist for bikes i can't afford and tools i dream about buying. But some things about the way potential employers post adds is beginning to shape into a pattern.
For instance most employers want someone dependable, hardworking, skilled, drug/alcohol free, and cheap. Case in point:
"Experienced, trustworthy, fast, skilled Carpenter needed (Glacier)
Date: 2010-02-21, 1:24AM PSTReply to: deleted
I need a trustworthy carpenter that has tools--need widows cut out and put in and siding put up on entire two story--and transportation. I will need the floors done and the house framed inside after. Please email references and CV with pictures of previous work. Looking for educated skilled trustworthy person that can be left alone. Been stoled from so please only serious trustworthy people that are looking to build a relationship. Pay is only $10 and hour paid in cash daily and will increase when I get more money. I need someone to help me on monday and maybe tues and if things work out it will be part time a couple of days per month and leading to more work in the future. Thanks."
It is possible that this "employer" is down on his luck and wants to get his cabin, house, restaurant, or whatever finished soon. But, you get what you pay for and it is highly unlikely that he'll get what he wants for $10/hr. The add is an insult to any skilled craftsman looking for work. In a time when people are down on their luck and hurting for jobs it blows my mind that some have the audacity to prey on others desperation by offering wages so far below the going rate that it demeans the industry they are trying to hire from. The talent pool in the greater Whatcom County area is fairly strong and the competition for jobs is equally strong. But we (collective unemployed carpenters) know what our skills, experience, and tools are worth and it ain't $10/hr.
The other add that reaffirmed the patterns I've been seeing is this one:
"Framers Assistant ( Bellingham)
Date: 2010-02-19, 12:54PM PSTReply to: deleted
I'm looking for a qualified framers assistant. General skills in lumber selection, framing knowledge and post frame building construction background a real plus. Metal Siding and Roof installation. Concrete slabs. Trim, paint and pretty much looking for a jack of all trades but able to go hard all day without complaining. If you have any physical limitations - please explain on your cover letter. Wages depend upon skills and references. I would like a hard working, clean, drug & alcohol free individual. Must have a license and reiable transportation. Work schedule is 7-3:30 M-F. Please email your resume and references. Age and sex is not a factor, must be able to repeatedly lift 70-100 pounds and NOT be affraid of heights. Work to start within 3 weeks and running steady through Fall if you have what it takes. Drug and alcohol test required; as well as DMV check for insurability. Doing interviews next week. I will close the ad on Sunday Feb 21st. "
If you have what it takes. "Cowboy up son, we're gonna git this here buildn' completed!" I want to know why people feel like they have to specifically advertise for hardworking, dependable, capable people? The ranks of unemployed searching for adds on craigslist are going to inquire, or not, about jobs irregardless of their work ethic, skill set, or personal vices. (A brief aside, i don't know a construction worker who doesn't, at the very least, imbibe beer, wine, and liquor.)
I think it is safe to assume that would be employees apply for a job believing that they are hardworking, honest, and dependable. That their skill set is par for the course and their intention is to show up on time, work eight or more hours and go home. Those folk actively job searching aren't sitting around thinking, "shit I'm lazy, that would never work," or "too bad I'm dishonest, that job sounds perfect." Most people looking for a job have families to feed and bills to pay and if they are lazy, dishonest, and unreliable they don't see it.
Here is what these adds should look like: "Available: hard work for honest wages, call to apply." Looks good to me.
For instance most employers want someone dependable, hardworking, skilled, drug/alcohol free, and cheap. Case in point:
"Experienced, trustworthy, fast, skilled Carpenter needed (Glacier)
Date: 2010-02-21, 1:24AM PSTReply to: deleted
I need a trustworthy carpenter that has tools--need widows cut out and put in and siding put up on entire two story--and transportation. I will need the floors done and the house framed inside after. Please email references and CV with pictures of previous work. Looking for educated skilled trustworthy person that can be left alone. Been stoled from so please only serious trustworthy people that are looking to build a relationship. Pay is only $10 and hour paid in cash daily and will increase when I get more money. I need someone to help me on monday and maybe tues and if things work out it will be part time a couple of days per month and leading to more work in the future. Thanks."
It is possible that this "employer" is down on his luck and wants to get his cabin, house, restaurant, or whatever finished soon. But, you get what you pay for and it is highly unlikely that he'll get what he wants for $10/hr. The add is an insult to any skilled craftsman looking for work. In a time when people are down on their luck and hurting for jobs it blows my mind that some have the audacity to prey on others desperation by offering wages so far below the going rate that it demeans the industry they are trying to hire from. The talent pool in the greater Whatcom County area is fairly strong and the competition for jobs is equally strong. But we (collective unemployed carpenters) know what our skills, experience, and tools are worth and it ain't $10/hr.
The other add that reaffirmed the patterns I've been seeing is this one:
"Framers Assistant ( Bellingham)
Date: 2010-02-19, 12:54PM PSTReply to: deleted
I'm looking for a qualified framers assistant. General skills in lumber selection, framing knowledge and post frame building construction background a real plus. Metal Siding and Roof installation. Concrete slabs. Trim, paint and pretty much looking for a jack of all trades but able to go hard all day without complaining. If you have any physical limitations - please explain on your cover letter. Wages depend upon skills and references. I would like a hard working, clean, drug & alcohol free individual. Must have a license and reiable transportation. Work schedule is 7-3:30 M-F. Please email your resume and references. Age and sex is not a factor, must be able to repeatedly lift 70-100 pounds and NOT be affraid of heights. Work to start within 3 weeks and running steady through Fall if you have what it takes. Drug and alcohol test required; as well as DMV check for insurability. Doing interviews next week. I will close the ad on Sunday Feb 21st. "
If you have what it takes. "Cowboy up son, we're gonna git this here buildn' completed!" I want to know why people feel like they have to specifically advertise for hardworking, dependable, capable people? The ranks of unemployed searching for adds on craigslist are going to inquire, or not, about jobs irregardless of their work ethic, skill set, or personal vices. (A brief aside, i don't know a construction worker who doesn't, at the very least, imbibe beer, wine, and liquor.)
I think it is safe to assume that would be employees apply for a job believing that they are hardworking, honest, and dependable. That their skill set is par for the course and their intention is to show up on time, work eight or more hours and go home. Those folk actively job searching aren't sitting around thinking, "shit I'm lazy, that would never work," or "too bad I'm dishonest, that job sounds perfect." Most people looking for a job have families to feed and bills to pay and if they are lazy, dishonest, and unreliable they don't see it.
Here is what these adds should look like: "Available: hard work for honest wages, call to apply." Looks good to me.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Discipline of Writing
Its hard for me to write when i don't feel an oppressive sense of darkness or frustration. When life is moving at a relatively comfortable pace and things seem to move along smoothly and the trials and tribulations of living poor in a wealthy society seem like speed bumps and footnotes the need to break free is, well, non-existent. I have nothing to break free from if i feel free already. It is strange, but this has often been my struggle, my battle, my lot in a writing life. Times of contentment tend to coincide with periods of very, very unproductive writing.
This strange paradigm is wrapped up this blog. My hope is that as i write through these times i will break free from this mood based writing. By creating a discipline of writing i will create a mental fortress that allows for a way into writing regardless of the circumstances of life. This is how--it must be--writers make a living at writing. They write, regardless, every day, without fail. This is what i want in my writing. Something everyday and gradually driving towards a life in which writing pays the bills.
I have had, in the short life of this blog, moments of intense encouragement and those of deep lows and frustration as it relates to writing. This roller coaster highlights how far i have to go. Besides the narcissistic need for people to be reading what I've written, the ability to break free of my conservative nature needs to strengthened. (Conservative in so much as i am afraid to really explore the story lines of my mind, not necessarily the way i view the world.)
This is all i have today, my legs are pumped out from a great mt. bike ride on the local hill--Galbraith Mt.--and the sun is very bright and warm and this is not my optimum time to write but sense i woke up late...
This strange paradigm is wrapped up this blog. My hope is that as i write through these times i will break free from this mood based writing. By creating a discipline of writing i will create a mental fortress that allows for a way into writing regardless of the circumstances of life. This is how--it must be--writers make a living at writing. They write, regardless, every day, without fail. This is what i want in my writing. Something everyday and gradually driving towards a life in which writing pays the bills.
I have had, in the short life of this blog, moments of intense encouragement and those of deep lows and frustration as it relates to writing. This roller coaster highlights how far i have to go. Besides the narcissistic need for people to be reading what I've written, the ability to break free of my conservative nature needs to strengthened. (Conservative in so much as i am afraid to really explore the story lines of my mind, not necessarily the way i view the world.)
This is all i have today, my legs are pumped out from a great mt. bike ride on the local hill--Galbraith Mt.--and the sun is very bright and warm and this is not my optimum time to write but sense i woke up late...
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A Few Days of Sun
The lingering effects of running are still with me this morning. I feel in some ways an air of self imposed confidence, after a run of one day and a decision to pursue a fitness routine...of some sort. Conversely i feel truly pathetic that a 3 m. run has made me so damn sore. Perhaps i over did it, but if that is true than my turtle running partner set to fast a pace so it is his fault not mine. However, i don't begrudge him that and, while i won't run/ride today, tomorrow is the time for more physical exertion. In the interim i have finally registered with the career center at WWU and should begin career counselling in March.
Recently I've let my mind go blank on the subject of a future career. I can see myself doing a lot of different things and nothing stands out as "that" career path. With the prospect of career counselling luming my mind has started spinning various jobs around but i am trying not to focus, to hard, on one in particular until I've gotten some feedback from the counsellors at WWU. I don't expect them to have an 8 ball that magically points out the path for me but some insight and experience with career basket cases like me will be refreshing. In the mean time I've got a bit of side work going on and hopefully in my down time i can work on a couple of furniture projects that have been sitting patiently for my attention and enjoy the unseasonable sun in Bellingham, this week at least.
I know that having so much sunshine this time of year isn't particularly good for our environment--we really do need the rain, and the snow pack--but it is very, very good for my general outlook on life. A few days of sunshine can change my perspective dramatically. It is easier, by far, to be unemployed in the sunshine than in the rain and the world seems to open up in a new way...its almost like a vacation, a vacation on which your flat broke but happy to be out none-the-less. I can't say how long the sun will last, the forecast calls for it through the weekend, all i can do is enjoy it while its here.
Recently I've let my mind go blank on the subject of a future career. I can see myself doing a lot of different things and nothing stands out as "that" career path. With the prospect of career counselling luming my mind has started spinning various jobs around but i am trying not to focus, to hard, on one in particular until I've gotten some feedback from the counsellors at WWU. I don't expect them to have an 8 ball that magically points out the path for me but some insight and experience with career basket cases like me will be refreshing. In the mean time I've got a bit of side work going on and hopefully in my down time i can work on a couple of furniture projects that have been sitting patiently for my attention and enjoy the unseasonable sun in Bellingham, this week at least.
I know that having so much sunshine this time of year isn't particularly good for our environment--we really do need the rain, and the snow pack--but it is very, very good for my general outlook on life. A few days of sunshine can change my perspective dramatically. It is easier, by far, to be unemployed in the sunshine than in the rain and the world seems to open up in a new way...its almost like a vacation, a vacation on which your flat broke but happy to be out none-the-less. I can't say how long the sun will last, the forecast calls for it through the weekend, all i can do is enjoy it while its here.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Time To Procrastinate
I've tentatively decided to prepare for the Lake Padden Mt. Duatholon. Its a run, mt. bike, run course (2.6 m., 4 m., 2.6 m.). So, as early preparation i went for a jog last night. The pre-spring sun was lingering a little longer than normal and the afternoon felt like we are in the transition of winter to spring. I took in approximately three miles and today i feel like i attempted a 7k mountain race or a 1/2 marathon or something ungodly and painful. I am shocked at how out of shape i feel. My near complete lack of fitness is something that bothers me greatly.
A couple of months ago i realized that my 30th birthday was looming at the end of March and i didn't want to be turning 30 without being on a straight and narrow path towards fitness. I never really got started there. I had best intentions but only so much time in a day and what little time there is seems to fade away.
My life isn't devoid of physical activity. My work as a carpenter is inherently physical and i try to get out on my mt. bike at least once a week. Also, i play indoor soccer. But it isn't enough. Far from it, i want the feeling that on any given day i could step outside and conquer the world--metaphorically speaking--and right now i feel that I'd be lucky to conquer my neighborhood or the local coffee shop. It takes a recognition of my pathetic fitness level to want to change it.
I want to be more fit but i despise the road to fitness. The other day i was flipping through a photo album of my study abroad experience (La Trobe University in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia) and i was dumbfounded at the difference in guy in those pictures and the guy looking at them. I had been running close to every day at that point in my life and looked it and felt it. Now i look like what i am, a hard workin', beer swillin', carpenter-father-husband who's just to f'ing tired at the end of the day to remotely fathom putting on a pair of running shoes and vanishing for three miles or so. It is even hard to get on my mt. bike and that is a sport that truly revitalizes and refreshes my outlook and mentality. Anything that requires a certain level of fitness right now is daunting and frustrating and i loose the motivation to pursue it rather quickly.
But I'm ready to change that. Yesterday i jogged three miles. Tomorrow I'll either get on my bike or jog again. This coming weekend I'll play indoor soccer. The challenge for me isn't so much exercising it is being patient with myself as i build up strength and stamina to go the distance. Something to train for is best--the padden mt. duatholon. But it isn't until October... I've got a lot of time to procrastinate.
A couple of months ago i realized that my 30th birthday was looming at the end of March and i didn't want to be turning 30 without being on a straight and narrow path towards fitness. I never really got started there. I had best intentions but only so much time in a day and what little time there is seems to fade away.
My life isn't devoid of physical activity. My work as a carpenter is inherently physical and i try to get out on my mt. bike at least once a week. Also, i play indoor soccer. But it isn't enough. Far from it, i want the feeling that on any given day i could step outside and conquer the world--metaphorically speaking--and right now i feel that I'd be lucky to conquer my neighborhood or the local coffee shop. It takes a recognition of my pathetic fitness level to want to change it.
I want to be more fit but i despise the road to fitness. The other day i was flipping through a photo album of my study abroad experience (La Trobe University in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia) and i was dumbfounded at the difference in guy in those pictures and the guy looking at them. I had been running close to every day at that point in my life and looked it and felt it. Now i look like what i am, a hard workin', beer swillin', carpenter-father-husband who's just to f'ing tired at the end of the day to remotely fathom putting on a pair of running shoes and vanishing for three miles or so. It is even hard to get on my mt. bike and that is a sport that truly revitalizes and refreshes my outlook and mentality. Anything that requires a certain level of fitness right now is daunting and frustrating and i loose the motivation to pursue it rather quickly.
But I'm ready to change that. Yesterday i jogged three miles. Tomorrow I'll either get on my bike or jog again. This coming weekend I'll play indoor soccer. The challenge for me isn't so much exercising it is being patient with myself as i build up strength and stamina to go the distance. Something to train for is best--the padden mt. duatholon. But it isn't until October... I've got a lot of time to procrastinate.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Strangers in My Life: Returning Tomorrow
Here i sit, coming off a four day weekend. Honestly my mind is both blank and wracked with what i have to do today. A frustrating dichotomy. The day is routine to some extent, unload tools and finish the handrail on a small deck/stairs i put on the back of the house. There are some other things to do too but that is the primary aim of today. This morning, the heater blower rumbling and the lights on in the back ground, i am completely blank. I've got my coffee, that is a start, and I've got onto the blog, managed to tear myself away from superfluous Internet surfing, and here i am trying to kick start my blog today.
So i have come to realize that some people who read what i write on a near daily basis are people that i am close to for one reason or another but i don't know particularly well. It is vindicating to hear of people reading, it does something for my discipline and drive to keep writing and getting what thoughts I've available into cyberspace (as it were); yet, at the same time i realize that these people know me a lot better now than i know them. This blog is, generally, a very, very candid stream of consciousness kinda thing i got going on and my struggles and fears and thoughts and opinions hit the deck running--a reflection of me is born in the words i write. I'm okay with that (not that i have to/need to validate it).
This is a good discovery for me. Strangers, virtual strangers, family, acquaintances will see in to me, see all the words spell check misses, see what's going on within my mind. Today, i gotta be honest, i am struggling and typing right now is like trying to pour molasses on a cold morning except the end result of this exercise is not nearly as sweet so I'm going to cut it off here and return tomorrow.
So i have come to realize that some people who read what i write on a near daily basis are people that i am close to for one reason or another but i don't know particularly well. It is vindicating to hear of people reading, it does something for my discipline and drive to keep writing and getting what thoughts I've available into cyberspace (as it were); yet, at the same time i realize that these people know me a lot better now than i know them. This blog is, generally, a very, very candid stream of consciousness kinda thing i got going on and my struggles and fears and thoughts and opinions hit the deck running--a reflection of me is born in the words i write. I'm okay with that (not that i have to/need to validate it).
This is a good discovery for me. Strangers, virtual strangers, family, acquaintances will see in to me, see all the words spell check misses, see what's going on within my mind. Today, i gotta be honest, i am struggling and typing right now is like trying to pour molasses on a cold morning except the end result of this exercise is not nearly as sweet so I'm going to cut it off here and return tomorrow.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Weekend Away.
I don't have anything, really, for today. The family and i are going away for the weekend. I may try and write tomorrow, but we'll see. Have a good weekend.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Polotics
I think i am going to get a little political here. Briefly and painlessly i hope. First a bit of a disclaimer, i am not, by nature a "political" person. I have an inordinate amount of faith in the U.S. government system and i believe it is a good way to bring into focus the needs/wants of the people at large. I am not so naive as to believe; however, that the interests of the people truly rule. It is, I've no doubt, the big campaign contributors and supporters (the wealthiest fraction of our nation) who really have a say in the inner workings of congress.
I am neither a conspiracy person nor a face value person, i am neither left nor right. In truth, in most political discussions emotion and self-importance run high and strong and i have an intuitive tendency to automatically take the other side no matter my core beliefs at heart. I do not have the patience or the time to sit and validate other peoples beliefs and views, the very reason i hate talk radio (of any sort) and talking politics with friends.
The political tendencies of my readership is a mystery to me. Frankly i don't particularly care how you vote--democrat, republican, libertarian, independent, or something else entirely--what you believe is your business and I'm not in the market to change your mind. But i am wondering wtf is Sara Palin doing as the voice of the republican party and is she the best they can do? On a personal level i hope so, she is great ammunition for the writers of the radio show "Wait, Wait, Don't tell me" on NPR (Saturday mornings at 10 am pacific time). On a political level it really drives home a lot of things that are wrong with the way the masses approach politics: as it is given to them.
What i mean to say is that the political parties in America, the big two anyways, are over reliant on scare tactics that reinforce a mob mentality when going to the polls. There is no dialogue, not between friends, not between strangers. The way we are fed propaganda and information is done is such away as to make us feel victimised and defensive and suddenly we are wounded with our backs to the wall and we lash out violently at whats around us.
I want to emphasise that we are fed propaganda. Bloated, arrogant, hypocritical narcissists like Rush Limbaugh sit comfortably behind a microphone being handed sacks and sacks of cash and say whatever they feel like, in Rush's case it is usually racist, ignorant, right wing nonsense. (On a very base level i have to admire his ability to do what he does and i applaud him in the same way i applaud Howard Stern, as entertainers and spokespeople who have made it to the top and are not coming down. Yet i despise them with a burning passion as narcissistic, misogynistic, arrogant, racist, self-absorbed--being general here, not specific--vultures preying on the carcass of a collective intelligence that has become incapable of thinking for itself, consequently lost in a state of slow decay.) The problem isn't that talk show hosts and political commentators speak what is on their minds, i would never imply that. The problem is that they do it in such a way as to make the general public believe that what they are saying is policy up for debate. The farcical death panel comment is a prime example. There was never an intention to put the elderly and critical people in front of a panel of doctors to decide the validity of keeping them alive that was a manifestation of Rush Limbaugh, BUT PEOPLE BOUGHT IT!! Even now i can't believe people were suckered like that. I am embarrassed for you.
Here is what I'm trying to say. We need to think for ourselves. There is no room in the political arena to allow ourselves to be controlled by the very, very few voices in positions of influence when, in theory anyways, the power lies with the many, many people. It is good to have many beliefs and positions on many issues and policies. It shows a healthy level of diversity and thought. It is bad to be sucked into the vortex of single issue voting, looking like a draft horse with blinders on going where commanded. Some how we have to shed the defensive political shells built up around us, there is nothing to be afraid of in dialogue and differing opinions and beliefs are not necessarily personal attacks of views to be feared and avoided. They are just different and should be heard. Lets enter into dialogue, lets listen to one another left, right, and center, talk about it and then vote.
Honestly, if we can't do that, talk and dialogue like adults rather than spoiled children, we don't deserve to vote.
I am neither a conspiracy person nor a face value person, i am neither left nor right. In truth, in most political discussions emotion and self-importance run high and strong and i have an intuitive tendency to automatically take the other side no matter my core beliefs at heart. I do not have the patience or the time to sit and validate other peoples beliefs and views, the very reason i hate talk radio (of any sort) and talking politics with friends.
The political tendencies of my readership is a mystery to me. Frankly i don't particularly care how you vote--democrat, republican, libertarian, independent, or something else entirely--what you believe is your business and I'm not in the market to change your mind. But i am wondering wtf is Sara Palin doing as the voice of the republican party and is she the best they can do? On a personal level i hope so, she is great ammunition for the writers of the radio show "Wait, Wait, Don't tell me" on NPR (Saturday mornings at 10 am pacific time). On a political level it really drives home a lot of things that are wrong with the way the masses approach politics: as it is given to them.
What i mean to say is that the political parties in America, the big two anyways, are over reliant on scare tactics that reinforce a mob mentality when going to the polls. There is no dialogue, not between friends, not between strangers. The way we are fed propaganda and information is done is such away as to make us feel victimised and defensive and suddenly we are wounded with our backs to the wall and we lash out violently at whats around us.
I want to emphasise that we are fed propaganda. Bloated, arrogant, hypocritical narcissists like Rush Limbaugh sit comfortably behind a microphone being handed sacks and sacks of cash and say whatever they feel like, in Rush's case it is usually racist, ignorant, right wing nonsense. (On a very base level i have to admire his ability to do what he does and i applaud him in the same way i applaud Howard Stern, as entertainers and spokespeople who have made it to the top and are not coming down. Yet i despise them with a burning passion as narcissistic, misogynistic, arrogant, racist, self-absorbed--being general here, not specific--vultures preying on the carcass of a collective intelligence that has become incapable of thinking for itself, consequently lost in a state of slow decay.) The problem isn't that talk show hosts and political commentators speak what is on their minds, i would never imply that. The problem is that they do it in such a way as to make the general public believe that what they are saying is policy up for debate. The farcical death panel comment is a prime example. There was never an intention to put the elderly and critical people in front of a panel of doctors to decide the validity of keeping them alive that was a manifestation of Rush Limbaugh, BUT PEOPLE BOUGHT IT!! Even now i can't believe people were suckered like that. I am embarrassed for you.
Here is what I'm trying to say. We need to think for ourselves. There is no room in the political arena to allow ourselves to be controlled by the very, very few voices in positions of influence when, in theory anyways, the power lies with the many, many people. It is good to have many beliefs and positions on many issues and policies. It shows a healthy level of diversity and thought. It is bad to be sucked into the vortex of single issue voting, looking like a draft horse with blinders on going where commanded. Some how we have to shed the defensive political shells built up around us, there is nothing to be afraid of in dialogue and differing opinions and beliefs are not necessarily personal attacks of views to be feared and avoided. They are just different and should be heard. Lets enter into dialogue, lets listen to one another left, right, and center, talk about it and then vote.
Honestly, if we can't do that, talk and dialogue like adults rather than spoiled children, we don't deserve to vote.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
briefly...
The steam from my coffee rises with the sun and the sound of the coffee pot and the heater fan mingle and fill up the house. There are no lights on in this room but the light trickles in from the kitchen and living area and while there is by no means enough light to read, there is enough to see. The day has begun, this first cup of coffee and the buzz of the heater...the ambience of our new house has become relativly familiar and if we have not settled completely, have not found this to be home persay it is comfortable and on its way.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
My Half Crazed and Caffinated Mind
I've started this week exhausted and now i am afraid that feeling will continue throughout. It is amazing how the only thing i have to write about is that. With everything else going on, the only thing i can bring to focus is how tired i am. I've been trying to get started here for close to half an hour but I've just been surfing the web, reading soccer highlights and commentaries and checking email and craigslist. Anything but sticking to my writing plan: blog 5:30 - 6:00, write 6:00 - 7:00. One week in and already failing. It is the same with an exercise routine/schedule i created a couple of months ago. My goals aren't that unrealistic, they just require some discipline and focus, but i can't seem to stick to it. What i want is to be more fit and feeling stronger and healthier, so i create a schedule and find that i don't have enough energy or time at the end of the day to squeeze a workout of almost any sort in. I don't like just working out, i like to ride my bike or play soccer or something of that nature, going for a jog is okay but not ideal. In the same light, i want to be a more serious writer, working on things that can be polished and focused, taking what I'm doing here--on this blog--a step further by working on more creative types of writing. I fail in the first week. I've absolutely no focus or discipline...
Life is on such a tight timeline, a couple of hours of time before i go to work and a few after, get the kids in bed and then a bit of time with my wife before we wonder off to dream land ourselves. Our budget is the same way, dolled out to the penny. When I've been laid off our life scenario changes dramatically. There is no money to budget and our life schedule takes a dramatic nose dive to oblivion. I'm around, things are different and a little hectic. It's as though i disrupt a finely tuned balance of creative and focused parenting and routine. Life is a crazy roller coaster that way and just as things seem to be getting comfortable and normal the whole train peaks and drops into the valley and everything is out of control. Once that decent begins there is no way to stop it without breaking the train. Life, fortunately, isn't that black and white but i feel like we are on that crazy free fall and everything we try is only a speed bump that we barely feel.
To be perfectly honest i often feel that we're either in the afore mentioned free fall hoping for a same and timely landing or we're marching slowly onward, one tired step after the other. Life is like that, the crazy fall and then a slow stagnating march.
I'm running out of steam here, for this morning. This week, so far, my brain has receded deep within my skull and my muse has been AWOL for some time, hopefully when my brain emerges from hibernation it'll bring my muse along and i can put some thoughts into type that actually flow and make sense. This blog is helping me write, that is for sure. I'm learning how to draw out thoughts when i don't feel like it, I'm learning how to keep the words coming regardless of inspiration and focused purpose.
All the reasons for starting a blog have begun to fade away from the current reality of what it is, a daily session of free writing that anyone who has a mind to can read. It is, admittedly, the half-crazed, depressed ramblings of a caffinated, hence the non-sequitor nature of nearly everything i write.
Life is on such a tight timeline, a couple of hours of time before i go to work and a few after, get the kids in bed and then a bit of time with my wife before we wonder off to dream land ourselves. Our budget is the same way, dolled out to the penny. When I've been laid off our life scenario changes dramatically. There is no money to budget and our life schedule takes a dramatic nose dive to oblivion. I'm around, things are different and a little hectic. It's as though i disrupt a finely tuned balance of creative and focused parenting and routine. Life is a crazy roller coaster that way and just as things seem to be getting comfortable and normal the whole train peaks and drops into the valley and everything is out of control. Once that decent begins there is no way to stop it without breaking the train. Life, fortunately, isn't that black and white but i feel like we are on that crazy free fall and everything we try is only a speed bump that we barely feel.
To be perfectly honest i often feel that we're either in the afore mentioned free fall hoping for a same and timely landing or we're marching slowly onward, one tired step after the other. Life is like that, the crazy fall and then a slow stagnating march.
I'm running out of steam here, for this morning. This week, so far, my brain has receded deep within my skull and my muse has been AWOL for some time, hopefully when my brain emerges from hibernation it'll bring my muse along and i can put some thoughts into type that actually flow and make sense. This blog is helping me write, that is for sure. I'm learning how to draw out thoughts when i don't feel like it, I'm learning how to keep the words coming regardless of inspiration and focused purpose.
All the reasons for starting a blog have begun to fade away from the current reality of what it is, a daily session of free writing that anyone who has a mind to can read. It is, admittedly, the half-crazed, depressed ramblings of a caffinated, hence the non-sequitor nature of nearly everything i write.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Looking for Work
It is an odd sensation writing on a blog. I'm not entirely sure who's reading. The comfort for me is that many of the people who read this blog are strangers, ironically enough, though i hope that my friends and family are still with me thus far as i really started this blog to keep you abreast of where i am at and my experience in this career purgatory. For the sake of those still following, i wish i were a better writer. I wish i had a better grasp on what i was doing with this blogging experience. But i barely know what I'm doing with my life experience and this will ultimately be a minor footnote in the long and trying story of life.
I must confess that i haven't started career counselling yet. I am a month or so behind schedule at this point, more like a month and a half. It is crazy how fast life moves ahead and how quickly the whimsical plans of man fall behind. I still intend to go, at this point it is a matter of registering and setting up an appointment for the first session. My work with the contractor Ive been working with is rapidly coming to a close, this week, perhaps next, but his need for me will end soon and then i will be out in the cold. I am a hard worker, i show up everyday on time, i do the tasks assigned me and a little bit more. As far as carpentry goes--some hubris here--i am as good as most. But the carpentry industry is stagnant in Bellingham and i come home from a day in the field and my back hurts, my knees hurt, my body just aches. I don't want this for a life career, i want something different, something better, something that i am well suited for. Nobody is handing out paychecks to sit all morning drinking coffee and reading. No one is passing around bags of cash to drink beer in the evening or for mediocre (at best) indoor soccer players or mountain bikers...the things i truly love doing i most likely will not get paid for. I've gotta find the next best thing. Hence career counselling.
I think i need those people.
I must confess that i haven't started career counselling yet. I am a month or so behind schedule at this point, more like a month and a half. It is crazy how fast life moves ahead and how quickly the whimsical plans of man fall behind. I still intend to go, at this point it is a matter of registering and setting up an appointment for the first session. My work with the contractor Ive been working with is rapidly coming to a close, this week, perhaps next, but his need for me will end soon and then i will be out in the cold. I am a hard worker, i show up everyday on time, i do the tasks assigned me and a little bit more. As far as carpentry goes--some hubris here--i am as good as most. But the carpentry industry is stagnant in Bellingham and i come home from a day in the field and my back hurts, my knees hurt, my body just aches. I don't want this for a life career, i want something different, something better, something that i am well suited for. Nobody is handing out paychecks to sit all morning drinking coffee and reading. No one is passing around bags of cash to drink beer in the evening or for mediocre (at best) indoor soccer players or mountain bikers...the things i truly love doing i most likely will not get paid for. I've gotta find the next best thing. Hence career counselling.
I think i need those people.
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Gas Can
Here is a short story from my archives, i hope you enjoy! Oh, i would appreciate comments and feedback too.
It was raining and almost 6:30 in the morning. Jason pushed the check book away from his seat, picked up his coffee cup and moved slowly into the kitchen for another cup. All he wanted was sleep.
He hadn’t slept well the night before, neither had his wife.
Their young son had woken up again and again. His wife, then he, up to see what was wrong and each time it was something unexplainable – just the disrupted sleep of a toddler. Dreams he couldn’t name, loneliness, or cold. The wind that picked up in the middle of the night. Growing up in a world of toil and danger.
They had no idea. But now he was asleep, dreaming or not, warm and comfortable. The walls of his crib, so like bars of a jail, kept him safe. They weren’t bars to keep him in so much as to keep harm away. He had thought when the crib was first assembled that it was so like a cage.
But the crying, the sleeplessness, the anxiety of getting up and leaving for work had taken its toll and he and his wife had limped to bed one last time to sleep.
Another hour would make a big difference…
Standing at the kitchen window in his second floor apartment he watched the rain. It looked like it had slackened but it had simply changed -- from a deep downpour to a steady mist that coats the world like an oil spill. Water seeping across every surface and into every penetrable orifice. The mist would coat his cloths—jacket, hat, pants, and boots—and by noon or one or eleven, but probably earlier, probably immediately, he would be soaked to the bone with a mind numbing chill.
He poured a cup of coffee and went back to the table. Steam rose from the mug and the smell of the hot black liquid wafted across his nose. He wasn’t sure if it kept him awake or lulled him to sleep not but it was comforting to sip and he liked the warmth that spread through his body as he sat in the morning chill preparing for the day.
He thought of his wife now asleep in their king size bed. A bed that was alternately a fortress of intimacy and contact—pleasure, fun, and safety—or an island of loneliness and frustration. Often he thought how easy it would be to find the neutral ground and live life in between, close enough for one but not for the other. But his spirit, and hers, had never settled for status quo and they were all in, for better or worse, sickness and health, richer or poorer.
He buried his hands in his head and rubbed his eyes till he could see stars. With his vision blurred and eyes burning from pressure he too a sip of coffee and pushed his pen at his journal and his check book.
“At least,” he said very quietly to his mug (and watched as the journal and checkbook leaned their ears to hear), “at least there is this and this can always be status quo.”
“Fucking Saturdays,” he said quietly. “Fucking work,” and sipped his coffee. “Fucking lunch,” and got up to build a lunch box collage.
His small cooler filled with the random assortment of food unique to carpenters and laborers. A half bag of triscuits, a sandwich sans all but meat and cheese, handful of cookies, apple, and banana. As an after thought he added an ice pack and a can of peaches, he would open the can with a pair of tin snips. In the evenings, after dinner, while they cleaned the kitchen, his wife would often comment on the eclectic assortment of wrappers and cans and wonder to herself how such indifference could enter into a lunch.
He tried to be quiet in the kitchen, but try as he would, there was still noise. It seemed that every other day he woke up his son because of making his lunch or breakfast, or just being human. His wife would roll over and go back to sleep but if the boy was up, already, that was her lonely call back into reality.
He hoped Tony was still planning on coming to work, they had arranged the last two, or three, Saturdays to work and Tony had backed out, on Saturday, on each of them. Fucking tony, he thought, I hope he’s there. Or maybe not. Fuck em.
He needed the cash but he hated working on Saturdays.
Quickly he finished making his lunch and thought about breakfast but didn’t know what to make. Sipping coffee he leaned against the kitchen island and watched the world turn through the big window over the sink. From there he watched the neighbors drive out of the small parking lot. Gene took his standard poodle, Stanley, on a walk. It continued to rain and a small man in a ragged coat, ball cap, and white sneakers walked down the street, stopped at the deadened barrier and looked around.
The man stood in place and slowly did two circles, looking intently at each dwelling with each circle.
“What the hell is he doing?” he whispered to the window which answered back with the steam from his breath fogging it over. And shrugged. “Nut job,” he said and the window seemed to agree. It wasn’t odd for transients to cruise down their street, through the civic field parking lot and into the green zone. On evidence of the foot traffic down his street there was, he thought, a veritable metropolis for homeless bums, miscreants, and transients of all types and walks of life. He put the man out of his mind and went back to the table with his coffee.
It would be time to leave for work soon, the in-between time. A sort of space-time-linear purgatory that he hated. There was never enough time to get really comfortable. He would just leave, be early, but he hated being that guy, so, generally, he paced with frustration and anxiety, watching the clock slow down and the world become dizzy with his need for movement.
When he heard some one coming up the stairs he froze and searched his brain for an identifier, nada. A slow, continuous pressure on the stairs carried into the apartment. The noise builds, just slightly, as the walker climbs. But there is never a crescendo of music and light. At the landing the footsteps stop and the letdown continues.
The knock was long time in coming and then it was a bang! He jumped up and tipped toed quickly across the room to answer the door. Standing in the rain was the man from road. He opened the door and they looked at each other. The man wanted him to close the door and invite him in. He didn’t and broke the silence.
“Can I help you?” Jason asked the man.
Silence.
“What do you need?” he asked again, “what do you want?”
“I ran out of gas.”
“I’m sorry, there is a gas station down the street.”
He took the man in quickly, baggy pants, work coat. Asian of descent and his hands looked as though they seen a few pots and pans and maybe a hammer or two. He stared into him and through him, seeing the hall way, the painting on the wall and the smell of coffee. He was thick with it.
“I ran out of gas,” the man repeated and looked into his eyes with empty pleading. His eyes had no desire or life, they matched his tone and expression on his face.
“What do you want?” Jason asked.
“Some money.” The man moved a step closer. Jason shifted to put his weight on his left foot and held the door handle tightly with his right hand.
“I don’t have anything I can give you. I don’t have any money.”
"But I ran out of gas,” the man reasoned.
"There is a gas station down the street.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Neither do I.”
“I ran out of gas.”
“Sorry.”
“I need money,” he said.
“I’ve no money to give you,” Jason paused and looked down. He scratched his head and yawned and rubbed his eyes and thought for a moment of telling him to leave and calling the
police. “I do have a gas can you can borrow.”
The man’s shoulders sank and he drew the skin of his face into a twisted look of anger and disbelief.
“I need some gas. I need money!”
“Sorry man, a gas can is the best I can do. Wait down there, please.” Jason slipped on his shoes and led the man to his truck in the parking lot. The gas can was bone dry. “Sorry its empty, but you can fill it, put some in your car, and then return the gas can.”
The man looked at him with silence and frustration and plure contempt and he reached out and took the gas can.
“Just put it on the bottom step when you are done.” The man didn’t reply but took the gas can and walked away. He shuffled up the street, the gas can swinging lightly at his side, each step looked heavy and forced. He watched him for a while—he seemed like an ant, grinding away at what he had a mind to grind away at. There was no thought in his movements, no passion in his eyes. Life, for him, was toil, and standing in the rain in the parking lot, letting pity take his heart, he saw himself a small leap from the Asian’s position.
As the small man walked away, he followed him into the street, expecting to see his car. But there was nothing. Just the man with the gas can, swinging lightly at his side. He looked to the sky, and tried to find God in the clouds and from his heart came the shape of a prayer but no words to frame it. The rain chocked it back. The clouds opened a bit.
Before he went up stairs Jason checked his wallet and saw a five folded into it, he had known it was there, but it wasn’t a bill for charity. He saw it as a ticket to some beer and that lifted his spirits considerably.
On his way to work, Jason saw the man sitting at the nearest gas station, watching the traffic go by. The gas can was next to him and his expression was blank. There were no parked cars in sight. The man never returned the gas can.
Two years later, he drove past a man on a street corner holding a gas can in one hand and a sign in the other – he needed gas. As he drove by he thought about the Asian and his lost gas can.
“When in Rome,” he said, “watch the empire fall.”
And quickly he was out of sight of the man on the corner and off to work. Tony wouldn’t be there, ever again.
It was raining and almost 6:30 in the morning. Jason pushed the check book away from his seat, picked up his coffee cup and moved slowly into the kitchen for another cup. All he wanted was sleep.
He hadn’t slept well the night before, neither had his wife.
Their young son had woken up again and again. His wife, then he, up to see what was wrong and each time it was something unexplainable – just the disrupted sleep of a toddler. Dreams he couldn’t name, loneliness, or cold. The wind that picked up in the middle of the night. Growing up in a world of toil and danger.
They had no idea. But now he was asleep, dreaming or not, warm and comfortable. The walls of his crib, so like bars of a jail, kept him safe. They weren’t bars to keep him in so much as to keep harm away. He had thought when the crib was first assembled that it was so like a cage.
But the crying, the sleeplessness, the anxiety of getting up and leaving for work had taken its toll and he and his wife had limped to bed one last time to sleep.
Another hour would make a big difference…
Standing at the kitchen window in his second floor apartment he watched the rain. It looked like it had slackened but it had simply changed -- from a deep downpour to a steady mist that coats the world like an oil spill. Water seeping across every surface and into every penetrable orifice. The mist would coat his cloths—jacket, hat, pants, and boots—and by noon or one or eleven, but probably earlier, probably immediately, he would be soaked to the bone with a mind numbing chill.
He poured a cup of coffee and went back to the table. Steam rose from the mug and the smell of the hot black liquid wafted across his nose. He wasn’t sure if it kept him awake or lulled him to sleep not but it was comforting to sip and he liked the warmth that spread through his body as he sat in the morning chill preparing for the day.
He thought of his wife now asleep in their king size bed. A bed that was alternately a fortress of intimacy and contact—pleasure, fun, and safety—or an island of loneliness and frustration. Often he thought how easy it would be to find the neutral ground and live life in between, close enough for one but not for the other. But his spirit, and hers, had never settled for status quo and they were all in, for better or worse, sickness and health, richer or poorer.
He buried his hands in his head and rubbed his eyes till he could see stars. With his vision blurred and eyes burning from pressure he too a sip of coffee and pushed his pen at his journal and his check book.
“At least,” he said very quietly to his mug (and watched as the journal and checkbook leaned their ears to hear), “at least there is this and this can always be status quo.”
“Fucking Saturdays,” he said quietly. “Fucking work,” and sipped his coffee. “Fucking lunch,” and got up to build a lunch box collage.
His small cooler filled with the random assortment of food unique to carpenters and laborers. A half bag of triscuits, a sandwich sans all but meat and cheese, handful of cookies, apple, and banana. As an after thought he added an ice pack and a can of peaches, he would open the can with a pair of tin snips. In the evenings, after dinner, while they cleaned the kitchen, his wife would often comment on the eclectic assortment of wrappers and cans and wonder to herself how such indifference could enter into a lunch.
He tried to be quiet in the kitchen, but try as he would, there was still noise. It seemed that every other day he woke up his son because of making his lunch or breakfast, or just being human. His wife would roll over and go back to sleep but if the boy was up, already, that was her lonely call back into reality.
He hoped Tony was still planning on coming to work, they had arranged the last two, or three, Saturdays to work and Tony had backed out, on Saturday, on each of them. Fucking tony, he thought, I hope he’s there. Or maybe not. Fuck em.
He needed the cash but he hated working on Saturdays.
Quickly he finished making his lunch and thought about breakfast but didn’t know what to make. Sipping coffee he leaned against the kitchen island and watched the world turn through the big window over the sink. From there he watched the neighbors drive out of the small parking lot. Gene took his standard poodle, Stanley, on a walk. It continued to rain and a small man in a ragged coat, ball cap, and white sneakers walked down the street, stopped at the deadened barrier and looked around.
The man stood in place and slowly did two circles, looking intently at each dwelling with each circle.
“What the hell is he doing?” he whispered to the window which answered back with the steam from his breath fogging it over. And shrugged. “Nut job,” he said and the window seemed to agree. It wasn’t odd for transients to cruise down their street, through the civic field parking lot and into the green zone. On evidence of the foot traffic down his street there was, he thought, a veritable metropolis for homeless bums, miscreants, and transients of all types and walks of life. He put the man out of his mind and went back to the table with his coffee.
It would be time to leave for work soon, the in-between time. A sort of space-time-linear purgatory that he hated. There was never enough time to get really comfortable. He would just leave, be early, but he hated being that guy, so, generally, he paced with frustration and anxiety, watching the clock slow down and the world become dizzy with his need for movement.
When he heard some one coming up the stairs he froze and searched his brain for an identifier, nada. A slow, continuous pressure on the stairs carried into the apartment. The noise builds, just slightly, as the walker climbs. But there is never a crescendo of music and light. At the landing the footsteps stop and the letdown continues.
The knock was long time in coming and then it was a bang! He jumped up and tipped toed quickly across the room to answer the door. Standing in the rain was the man from road. He opened the door and they looked at each other. The man wanted him to close the door and invite him in. He didn’t and broke the silence.
“Can I help you?” Jason asked the man.
Silence.
“What do you need?” he asked again, “what do you want?”
“I ran out of gas.”
“I’m sorry, there is a gas station down the street.”
He took the man in quickly, baggy pants, work coat. Asian of descent and his hands looked as though they seen a few pots and pans and maybe a hammer or two. He stared into him and through him, seeing the hall way, the painting on the wall and the smell of coffee. He was thick with it.
“I ran out of gas,” the man repeated and looked into his eyes with empty pleading. His eyes had no desire or life, they matched his tone and expression on his face.
“What do you want?” Jason asked.
“Some money.” The man moved a step closer. Jason shifted to put his weight on his left foot and held the door handle tightly with his right hand.
“I don’t have anything I can give you. I don’t have any money.”
"But I ran out of gas,” the man reasoned.
"There is a gas station down the street.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Neither do I.”
“I ran out of gas.”
“Sorry.”
“I need money,” he said.
“I’ve no money to give you,” Jason paused and looked down. He scratched his head and yawned and rubbed his eyes and thought for a moment of telling him to leave and calling the
police. “I do have a gas can you can borrow.”
The man’s shoulders sank and he drew the skin of his face into a twisted look of anger and disbelief.
“I need some gas. I need money!”
“Sorry man, a gas can is the best I can do. Wait down there, please.” Jason slipped on his shoes and led the man to his truck in the parking lot. The gas can was bone dry. “Sorry its empty, but you can fill it, put some in your car, and then return the gas can.”
The man looked at him with silence and frustration and plure contempt and he reached out and took the gas can.
“Just put it on the bottom step when you are done.” The man didn’t reply but took the gas can and walked away. He shuffled up the street, the gas can swinging lightly at his side, each step looked heavy and forced. He watched him for a while—he seemed like an ant, grinding away at what he had a mind to grind away at. There was no thought in his movements, no passion in his eyes. Life, for him, was toil, and standing in the rain in the parking lot, letting pity take his heart, he saw himself a small leap from the Asian’s position.
As the small man walked away, he followed him into the street, expecting to see his car. But there was nothing. Just the man with the gas can, swinging lightly at his side. He looked to the sky, and tried to find God in the clouds and from his heart came the shape of a prayer but no words to frame it. The rain chocked it back. The clouds opened a bit.
Before he went up stairs Jason checked his wallet and saw a five folded into it, he had known it was there, but it wasn’t a bill for charity. He saw it as a ticket to some beer and that lifted his spirits considerably.
On his way to work, Jason saw the man sitting at the nearest gas station, watching the traffic go by. The gas can was next to him and his expression was blank. There were no parked cars in sight. The man never returned the gas can.
Two years later, he drove past a man on a street corner holding a gas can in one hand and a sign in the other – he needed gas. As he drove by he thought about the Asian and his lost gas can.
“When in Rome,” he said, “watch the empire fall.”
And quickly he was out of sight of the man on the corner and off to work. Tony wouldn’t be there, ever again.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Big Fat Nothing
I have nothing today. I can not channel emptiness onto the page. My mind is a complete blank and the attempts I've made at writing this morning have been a complete waste. This is truly the most frustrating feeling, the need to express and get words out--anything that has flow and direction--but feeling completely incapable of doing so. I've spent a half hour typing and deleting and I'm supposed to write for another hour as well...i will have to get away from the computer for this.
I'm really fucking annoyed with myself this morning. Blank. That is what i feel, blank.
Should i tell you about a dream i had? I was at a black tie after party for a fundraiser that John Cusack had organized and facilitated. A fundraiser that was a smashing success. So here i was, at this black tie party, wearing jeans and t-shirt and inexplicably i disappear into the bathroom and change into a pair of red soccer shorts, no shirt, and return to the party, no big deal. I eat cake, have some champagne and hang with a bunch of Hollywood stars and big shots. Red shorts, no shirt, no shoes, no big deal. Presently i change back into my jeans and shirt and then my alarm went off and my son squawked from the other room but i think the party was winding down anyways.
So, that's all I've got this morning. Sorry.
I'm really fucking annoyed with myself this morning. Blank. That is what i feel, blank.
Should i tell you about a dream i had? I was at a black tie after party for a fundraiser that John Cusack had organized and facilitated. A fundraiser that was a smashing success. So here i was, at this black tie party, wearing jeans and t-shirt and inexplicably i disappear into the bathroom and change into a pair of red soccer shorts, no shirt, and return to the party, no big deal. I eat cake, have some champagne and hang with a bunch of Hollywood stars and big shots. Red shorts, no shirt, no shoes, no big deal. Presently i change back into my jeans and shirt and then my alarm went off and my son squawked from the other room but i think the party was winding down anyways.
So, that's all I've got this morning. Sorry.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Writing Other Things.
I've been trying to write other things. Start working some short stories or even a novel. Focusing on this blog, writing diligently if not greatly, has given me a boost of confidence in my ability to work on something long term and be committed to writing as a life practice if not a career. When i finish here, working on this blog, i have been getting a sense of deep impatience. Like i need to go further. Its the same feeling after a particularly great bike ride or intense soccer game. The feeling, the high, the adrenaline, the intensity--i want to keep it going because there is always a fear that the flame will snuff out and i will loose "it" permanently.
The real danger here, for me, is elevated expectations of my writing ability. It is one thing to write, here, this blog, the things i am writing are true and real and candid. It is another entirely to start working on a work of fiction. I try to be very conscious of separating myself and my family from my writing, an effort to protect them to some degree, i imagine, and perhaps there are things i don't want to discover or i don't want characters, based on the image of members of my family, to turn out horribly, i don't know, but i try to distance my family from my writing. As a consequence i try to distance myself as well. The result is shallow writing. I'm too far removed and suddenly the scenario and the people and the actions are wooden and dead.
Most successful writers say that their is a bit of themselves in the writing. I read at some point, i think it was in a Hemmingway book that the characters of his writings were each a cross section of himself and that was true for most writers. There is no way of fully separating the writing from the writer.
Sitting here in the morning, lights are dark and my coffee is hot, it is much, much easier to write about me--my thoughts, struggles, impressions, etc.--than it is to switch over and begin working on a piece of fiction. I am afraid to implant myself in my fiction, to take risks that leave me vulnerable and exposed. I have these fears for works that don't yet exist and that may never be seen. The consequence of my fear is a failure to write anything with sustenance or staying power and a deep seated feeling of failure and disappointment.
There is a writing schedule posted: "blog 5:30 - 6:00, other writing 6:00 - 7:00". After that, if there is work to be done, i have to get ready and face the day. So far my other writing is a dismal failure. Yesterday i wrote for about 20 minutes and deleted it all and spent the rest of my time, periodically, surfing the web and staring at the blank ms word page. The cursor flashing, flashing, flashing in time. The session degenerated into me delivering a long rant at myself, my laziness, and my pathetic attempts at writing. It has been deleted.
It is still early in my writing process, i have time to make adjustments and figure out what works, but i want immediate results. Perhaps I'll try writing in a notebook instead of on the computer, perhaps I'll give the computer another try. Perhaps I'll quit, because going forward means eventually being vulnerable, and i don't like feeling exposed.
I don't want to quit. So I'm going to try very hard to write other things too.
The real danger here, for me, is elevated expectations of my writing ability. It is one thing to write, here, this blog, the things i am writing are true and real and candid. It is another entirely to start working on a work of fiction. I try to be very conscious of separating myself and my family from my writing, an effort to protect them to some degree, i imagine, and perhaps there are things i don't want to discover or i don't want characters, based on the image of members of my family, to turn out horribly, i don't know, but i try to distance my family from my writing. As a consequence i try to distance myself as well. The result is shallow writing. I'm too far removed and suddenly the scenario and the people and the actions are wooden and dead.
Most successful writers say that their is a bit of themselves in the writing. I read at some point, i think it was in a Hemmingway book that the characters of his writings were each a cross section of himself and that was true for most writers. There is no way of fully separating the writing from the writer.
Sitting here in the morning, lights are dark and my coffee is hot, it is much, much easier to write about me--my thoughts, struggles, impressions, etc.--than it is to switch over and begin working on a piece of fiction. I am afraid to implant myself in my fiction, to take risks that leave me vulnerable and exposed. I have these fears for works that don't yet exist and that may never be seen. The consequence of my fear is a failure to write anything with sustenance or staying power and a deep seated feeling of failure and disappointment.
There is a writing schedule posted: "blog 5:30 - 6:00, other writing 6:00 - 7:00". After that, if there is work to be done, i have to get ready and face the day. So far my other writing is a dismal failure. Yesterday i wrote for about 20 minutes and deleted it all and spent the rest of my time, periodically, surfing the web and staring at the blank ms word page. The cursor flashing, flashing, flashing in time. The session degenerated into me delivering a long rant at myself, my laziness, and my pathetic attempts at writing. It has been deleted.
It is still early in my writing process, i have time to make adjustments and figure out what works, but i want immediate results. Perhaps I'll try writing in a notebook instead of on the computer, perhaps I'll give the computer another try. Perhaps I'll quit, because going forward means eventually being vulnerable, and i don't like feeling exposed.
I don't want to quit. So I'm going to try very hard to write other things too.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Schedules and Grace
A life with children is a life where in the minutia of the day is liquid, not concrete. Any schedule is subject to change at any minute due to discipline, hunger, exhaustion, distraction, thirst, or the whimsical yearnings of a child's heart and mind. This is, in the moment, maddening and frustrating. Often, when it is time to leave the house it is for the sake of others as well as us and the world works on a clock that tells time differently than a five year old does...or an infant. This is a life lesson i learn every day.
I put myself on a schedule, a tight one. i try to hit this blog from 5:30 to 6 a.m. then write on a different project from 6 to 7. sometimes it works, sometimes not. When it doesn't work i find myself extremely frustrated and impatient. Half of the time it is because of me. I sit and stare at the cursor and the keyboard and the Internet and the walls and do anything but write. But the other half i am called into parental duty. Away from the computer (or out of bed as the case may be) and into fatherhood. There is never a good transition from one status to the other and all activities within the house are subject to change at a moments notice. But i don't adjust like that so well. When i am into a project or hard at work procrastinating at the computer, it is against my selfish nature to leave to care for my baby or preschooler. Is it true that i am so self absorbed?
The unfortunate answer is yes. I have a high capacity for self and a low for others. As much as i love my children their needs draw on my energy level and sap my strength and slowly i loose capacity for grace. It is always after they've stopped crying that perspective arrives. They need me, and my wife, we are gods to them, we are their universe. If only for a while. There is nothing like the peaceful eyes of a baby staring into your face while cradled in your arms to drive home humility and compassion.
This morning the baby woke up with my alarm, from the other room, and decided that 5:30 was time for him to get up to, so here he sits, on my lap as i hammer out this blog. Editor in chief, he is. And he is just sitting here, head on my arm, watching the words fall behind the cursor. Not quite awake not quite asleep. Simply with me, needing me.
As adults we aren't much different, often we need the same thing. Someone just to be with us, sit with us. We don't always have to understand or empathise or solve any problems but to just have some available. This is often lacking. For my part i always want to solve problems and offer solutions--i know this drives my wife a little crazy from time to time--but all people really want (and often need) is a gracious presence to be with them.
The schedule of parents is constantly in flux but the needs of their children are constant. Father hood has shown me the meaning of grace and day by day i learn to extend it a little bit further than the day before.
I put myself on a schedule, a tight one. i try to hit this blog from 5:30 to 6 a.m. then write on a different project from 6 to 7. sometimes it works, sometimes not. When it doesn't work i find myself extremely frustrated and impatient. Half of the time it is because of me. I sit and stare at the cursor and the keyboard and the Internet and the walls and do anything but write. But the other half i am called into parental duty. Away from the computer (or out of bed as the case may be) and into fatherhood. There is never a good transition from one status to the other and all activities within the house are subject to change at a moments notice. But i don't adjust like that so well. When i am into a project or hard at work procrastinating at the computer, it is against my selfish nature to leave to care for my baby or preschooler. Is it true that i am so self absorbed?
The unfortunate answer is yes. I have a high capacity for self and a low for others. As much as i love my children their needs draw on my energy level and sap my strength and slowly i loose capacity for grace. It is always after they've stopped crying that perspective arrives. They need me, and my wife, we are gods to them, we are their universe. If only for a while. There is nothing like the peaceful eyes of a baby staring into your face while cradled in your arms to drive home humility and compassion.
This morning the baby woke up with my alarm, from the other room, and decided that 5:30 was time for him to get up to, so here he sits, on my lap as i hammer out this blog. Editor in chief, he is. And he is just sitting here, head on my arm, watching the words fall behind the cursor. Not quite awake not quite asleep. Simply with me, needing me.
As adults we aren't much different, often we need the same thing. Someone just to be with us, sit with us. We don't always have to understand or empathise or solve any problems but to just have some available. This is often lacking. For my part i always want to solve problems and offer solutions--i know this drives my wife a little crazy from time to time--but all people really want (and often need) is a gracious presence to be with them.
The schedule of parents is constantly in flux but the needs of their children are constant. Father hood has shown me the meaning of grace and day by day i learn to extend it a little bit further than the day before.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Things Worth Seeing.
Nothing is ever certain in life. A lesson i have been learning throughout the past year. The plans we make for the future are often contingent on the stability and reliability of other people--employers, landlords, friends, spouses, etc...--and with a few notable exceptions (my wife and close friends) the reliability of people is sadly lacking. Though I've been learning how to cope with the unpredictable nature of the future it is still challenging when i wake up unemployed. The comforting nature of money, the knowledge that we are provided for and secure, is a great relief, and when it is uncertain how and where that provision is coming from life seems temporary and frightening.
Ultimately, in five years, this will seem like a footnote in our story but the future and past are very unreal for me these days and the reality of the present is all i have to go on. The reality this morning is that i am unemployed and on the dole. The reality of tomorrow is unknown. The lesson I've really learned over the past year is that i can not make plans for tomorrow. Who knows the mind of God, the actions of others, or the nature of the weather? It is ultimately a great mystery and the answers will be forthcoming in time. As for today i can only live the best i can life and let the tomorrow come as it will.
The sun will rise, presently, and though it will be behind the grey clouds of a northwest winter day, it will shed light on the world around me and i will see a bit more clearly than before. All I hope this morning is that there will be things worth seeing.
Ultimately, in five years, this will seem like a footnote in our story but the future and past are very unreal for me these days and the reality of the present is all i have to go on. The reality this morning is that i am unemployed and on the dole. The reality of tomorrow is unknown. The lesson I've really learned over the past year is that i can not make plans for tomorrow. Who knows the mind of God, the actions of others, or the nature of the weather? It is ultimately a great mystery and the answers will be forthcoming in time. As for today i can only live the best i can life and let the tomorrow come as it will.
The sun will rise, presently, and though it will be behind the grey clouds of a northwest winter day, it will shed light on the world around me and i will see a bit more clearly than before. All I hope this morning is that there will be things worth seeing.
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