It's been awhile.

 World, where have you been? I know I've been around here and there, but the words haven't found their way to the page. This lack of written prose and sharing of sketchy wisdom is about to change. It is time to let these wild and untamed thoughts loose upon an unsuspecting population. I feel a sense of (just say it already) anticipation.

Looking towards tomorrow, I wonder at what it might bring. In a few short days I will graduate and move on from the only employer I've known for the last 23 years. This emotionally, spiritually and physically demanding career has been a fickle bitch in many ways but has also been a steady source of income and stability for my now grown family. I've had the opportunity to travel to some interesting (and some less so) places in the world and to work alongside some amazing human beings. I call it a graduation instead of retirement because for me, I have so much more living to do on this amazing planet we call home. 

I am excited to see what will inspire me as I look to once more make this blog a normal part of my existence. What adventures will I share here? What discoveries will find their way out of this digital pen and onto the web page? Alas, only time will tell. 

Let our journey begin!

Winston

My Soul is Stirring

     I am amazed at where we are today. As a child, I knew that I loved music, that it stirred my soul like nothing else in this world. One of my favorite gifts, or maybe I just took it over, was an old portable record player that my mother had. It was portable because it folded up, you still needed somewhere to plug it in, but it sounded great and my mom had some great albums that she let me borrow.  I could sit and listen to the Moody Blues and other greats from that era over and over again. One of my favorite albums was a recording of the rock opera, Jesus Christ, Superstar. It really didn’t get any better than that unless you happened upon an outdoor jam session.

     Today, a little over thirty years later, I log onto my laptop because among other things that I should be doing, I want to show my wife a picture of something. Well one thing leads to another and I am sitting here, writing my thoughts (on my laptop), listening and watching a video recording of a young man from Spokane playing his electric violin on a street corner. The sound fidelity is amazing considering he was probably recorded with a cellphone and the video was uploaded to YouTube as soon as he was done performing.

     I am reminded almost daily of how connected our world has become. I know that this thought frightens some, but it excites me, it calls to me to explore places that I may never visit in the flesh. I can explore the farthest reaches of our planet and beyond. Often I find myself looking at video from the International Space station when I need to escape the bonds of my desk, or pictures of amazing places to vacation. I can read about science and new discoveries, or I can connect with friends and family who live far away. The world is right there on my little 15 inch screen, of course, now I can get there using my phone.

My soul is stirring once again.

A War Ended

Ok, so I am fairly new at expressing myself in print (or in bits and bytes if you prefer) but like most people, I like to express myself to my friends and coworkers.  Only, they don’t much like it, but they are a captive audience! I won’t be so lucky with you, so I must find some way to keep you on my page long enough to absorb my bits of wit and fabulous commentary. Here is what I am pondering today;

The war in Iraq is officially over. Yeah, pretty much sums up the press today too. They are all like, “4500 dudes died, 32,000 got really messed up and stuff and uh, yeah like the President says thanks.” Really!?! We went into Iraq not once, but twice, balls to the wall, blowing up the bad guys, 24 hour coverage. You couldn’t escape the news either time. I felt as if I was under assault and CNN was the aggressor.  When daddy Bush went in, it was news! When Junior went back, Bam! More news to enthrall the masses. Well we got that dude pretty early on really, but it has taken way too many years and way too many lives to get out of there again.  It seems as if we are immune to the pain of war these days, it is just part of our landscape now.

Another thing occurred to me, my children have grown up at war. At no time in their lives have we been at peace. Think about that! Today a war ended, yet we are still at war in Afghanistan. The cold war ended before they were born, that was my childhood and my mother’s childhood. My kids get the Chinese. The unfortunate problem with the way they do business is that technology really promotes freedom and that isn’t their thing. It makes me wonder how long the powers can keep the masses beaten down.  My children aren’t really aware the war is over, it hasn’t really touched them that they know of now.

So today a war ended, hardly anything, no parades, no wild cheers, all is just situation normal. Well situation normal for everyone but all the dead heroes and the families that mourn them. Life is no longer normal for the over 32,000 troops whose bodies are all messed up now and no one is talking much about all the shattered minds that came home from that little conflict.

My children have only ever known war.

The Canoes

The canoes were a constant temptation for the young boy. They sat there, metal hulls glistening in the hot Oregon sun, daring the boy to take one for a ride. Of course the canoes were off-limits for the kid; he was only 8 years old and the boats were for the older boys attending scout camp. He loved the water and was fascinated with the boats. It wasn’t fair that the canoes sat there unused most days and he wasn’t allowed to use them without a grownup around, even if he promised to keep close to shore. The adults were too busy taking care of the camp to take him out to paddle around and the older boys didn’t want to be saddled down with the poor little guy. The canoes called to him.

Early one morning, he crept out of bed and walked to the waterfront. He often awoke before anyone else and was known to roam about camp on his own. He wouldn’t be missed for quite a while. Despite his size, he managed to wrestle down one of the canoes and drag it to the lake’s edge.  Grabbing a paddle, he set off across the calm water into the morning sun.  He’d planned a short paddle around the small bay before anyone woke up and discovered him gone. Yet the smooth water of early morning practically begged him to paddle out just a little bit further. The aluminum canoe glided almost effortlessly across the surface of the lake and soon he was far from shore. Pausing for a quick break, he realized he was out of sight of the campground. Out of sight and out of mind, now was time to explore the lake more completely. Heck, they probably didn’t even know he was gone yet.

It took most of the morning for the young man to make it to the other side of the lake. As he made his crossing, boat traffic increased as fishermen came out to try their luck, yet no one stopped to question the child as he cut across the middle of the lake.  By this time he’d totally forgotten any consequences he would face when he eventually returned to the camp. It never occurred to him that not long after he started his adventure, someone noticed a canoe missing and a young man was nowhere to be found.

He felt much more confident after he reached the far shore. As he paddled along he came upon a public beach and thought it a good time to show off. After all, he’d just crossed an entire lake at the tender age of 8 years old all by himself, earning the right to some hard won recognition for mastering this fine watercraft. Hopefully he would meet some new friends and have a chance to display his new found abilities. Soon he was swimming around with the other kids and even swamped the canoe just for fun. In his mind, the day couldn’t be any finer. But like all great, albeit ill-advised, adventures, this one came to an abrupt end when his folks finally found him, still at play with new-found friends without a thought given to how or when he might head back.

I still remember the wonder I felt watching the canoe bobbing along in the wake of the powerboat my folks used to search for their missing son. I imagined how much fun it would be to be back there in the canoe instead of in the boring old motorboat riding with my fuming parents. I wasn’t too worried about the punishment I was about to receive; I was acquainted with the willow stick, and even though it would hurt, I knew in my heart that this adventure would be worth every switch I was about to receive. Only now as a parent, can I begin to imagine the terror my mother must have felt as she crossed that lake in search of her son. Yet to this day, I still smile with a sense of pride at navigating across that lake, young; alone and unafraid.

The Virtuous SalesPerson

The virtues of the professional salesperson are wonderful to behold. They are truly enlightened individuals with only the purest of thoughts when it comes to giving you service. Why, you only need ask one to find out why they are working so hard on your behalf and they will gladly tell you all that they personally are willing to sacrifice so that you might enjoy your new laundry set for just pennies a day. A salesperson is your new best friend and will guide you with care to help fulfill your needs. They are neither greedy nor aggressive. These paragons of all that is pure are completely at ease with all the character quirks that make them so successful.

Most all professional salespeople have a genuine need to sell more as the money they earn can only provide the barest of living essentials for their families. They are not at all greedy; they are just much needier than your average person.  If they don’t make their sales goals for the day, little Johnny will be eating a bowl of thinned, lukewarm gruel for supper yet again. It is very difficult to provide for a family on the pittance they make in commissioned sales. It is why there are so few of them. As salespeople pace about their department, they may look like sharks searching for fresh prey; it is only an illusion. They only stay mobile so that they can be the first person to provide you with the service that only he or she can provide you. The other salespeople are the sharks, circling you like a defenseless little fishy ready to be plucked from the sea and consumed by their unfathomable appetite.  

Salespeople are not at all territorial when it comes to customers anywhere near them. They are just the person best suited to meet your every whim, no matter how trivial, and want to be sure the rest of the sales staff is aware of that intimate relationship that you share. A talented salesperson can take the simple fact that some third cousin of theirs whom once belonged to some obscure organization that you now are a member of and make it seem as if you two have been the closest of confidantes for years.  They will make this very clear to the any of the sales staff should they even think of having a conversation with you. If this person is particularly talented you will find yourself believing in this fantastical relationship yourself, asking for this sainted salesperson each time you shop, trusting this person to help you spend your hard earned cash.

Now that the salesperson has your trust, the time is ripe to talk about protecting your purchase. So many of the devices we use today are controlled by imbedded digital electronics. These electronic controls make our stuff work so much more efficiently, and even though everything that a salesperson has recommended that you buy is of the highest quality and is sure to give you many years of satisfaction, sometimes things can go horribly awry. There could be a power surge, or maybe your appliance or car was built on a Monday when everyone on the assembly line had a vicious hangover and your brand new doohickey stops functioning shortly after the manufacturer’s warranty expires. For little more than the price of one service call, you can have peace of mind, secure in the knowledge that your doohickey will be well taken care of for years to come. Never mind that these service plans pay the best commission rates, and have some of the highest profit margins for the company that peddles them. Your salesperson only desires to provide you the very best buying experience of your life.

As sad as it is for me to admit, I have found myself emulating all of these traits more and more each day, because I, too, wish to provide the barest necessities for my family.  I thought that I could remain pure and aloof from these traits that I loathe, only to find myself sure that only I can provide the proper amount of care that my customers desire. I have found it to be true that I am the only one that has your best interests in mind while you are shopping for some new appliance, and being your new best friend I will warn you that, even though I have sold you my best products, you will be much safer and happier if you would only purchase some protection on your investment. More than once I have caught myself telling a customer that I am putting three members or my family through college right now and how the heartless institution of higher learning that we attend wouldn’t give us a volume discount, a discount that I would happily give you, if you would just purchase more than one appliance from me today.

The Occasional Unlucky Frog

I was only eight years old when I got my very own Red Ryder® BB gun for Christmas. Many would say that eight years old was way too young for a boy to have a BB gun, and my mother would strongly agree; but somehow I managed to convince her that I was mature enough to have one. We were living near Ashland, Oregon, at the Jackson Hot Springs RV Park, named as such because the hot springs fed right into the swimming pool. It was paradise on earth for a young boy, even with the smell of sulfur on the air. We were surrounded by woods with a small creek running through it, which then fed into a river on the other side of the highway. There was an abundance of wildlife to experience with plenty of salamanders and frogs by the creek, and, of course, birds - a lot of birds. And now I had my very own BB gun.  

As expected, I got all the usual lectures concerning gun safety. Don’t point it at people, don’t shoot people and don’t shoot other people’s stuff. And, being eight years old, I, of course, completely and utterly ignored whatever mom had to say. I was a real big boy now. I could shoot cans, protect my family and even hunt wild animals. I also had my very best friend Roy to play with. Roy had gotten a BB gun for Christmas, also. What could be better?

Roy was most definitely the better behaved of the two of us, as I was the proverbial “bad boy” at the time. Roy and I would go out with our rifles and shoot all kinds of things. We had paper targets, of course, and back then soda came in glass bottles - a bonus. With lots of practice we both got pretty good at shooting inanimate objects, and, as we got better, the inanimate targets started to lose their attraction. Soon we were shooting other stuff, such as the trains going by on the other side of the highway and the leaves in the trees.  Really we just started shooting at whatever got in our way or we thought would make a cool sound. One day we found a dead porcupine, and I can’t even begin to count how many BB’s we shot into that poor animal’s carcass. Of course it was down by the creek and we started shooting at things in the water. Floating sticks made for great moving targets and then the occasional unlucky frog would cross our sights. We never did manage to hit a frog as they were too small and too fast for our meager skills, but it was much more exciting if the targets were moving.

Then came the fateful day when Roy and I were walking along and I spotted a bird in a tree. She was just sitting there, and I had never tried to shoot a bird and neither had Roy. Roy didn’t know if it was such a good idea to shoot the bird, but I, silver-tongued devil that I was, talked him into trying, by convincing him that he really wasn’t that good of a shot and would probably miss her anyway.  Roy took aim, squeezed the trigger and killed that bird with one shot. She dropped dead right at our feet. Now neither Roy nor I had ever actually killed anything before with our guns. We had, like other normal boys, killed plenty of bugs, and I had caught and killed some fish, but this was different and we both knew it. We poked the bird with our gun barrels and she didn’t move. She was dead. Roy burst into tears after seeing what he had done and ran home. 

Not long after that Roy’s, mother had a conversation with my mother about what a terrible thing I had talked her son into doing and how we weren’t to play together anymore. And it was not very much longer after that that my mother and I had a little heart-to-heart talk about what is right and wrong.  I know she felt pressured into giving me that gun and I did lose it for a while. But I also lost a friend that day. To this day I feel responsible for talking him into doing something he didn’t want to do and that he most definitely did not feel right doing. I look back now and find that not only did I sometimes bow to my peers, but that I put pressure on my friends and family too. I often find myself wondering how Roy’s life turned out and if he learned to stand up for what he believed was right that fateful day at a little trailer park just outside of Ashland Oregon.

The Whole Bean and Nothing But The Bean

True coffee aficionados have many advantages in life over those who choose to merely open a can of pre-ground pencil shavings. The very first advantage enjoyed by true coffee lovers is the rich, hearty aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans that greets them with an enticing, “Hello”  as they open the bag. The scent is one that loudly proclaims that life is good and it is ready to be experienced in all its majestic glory. People who take the time to inhale the rich aroma of the beans are the type of people who will take the time to appreciate the drops of dew that adorn the flowers when the morning is young and still, admiring their crystalline beauty, just because it is there for them. They naturally have a greater appreciation for all that is beautiful in our world.

Sure, when you pry the lid back from a cold, lifeless can of coffee it sort of smells like coffee, but the scent doesn’t ignite your imagination or titillate your senses with the promise of pleasures to come. The canned-coffee person lacks that sense of anticipation for the wonders a new day will bring, and is instead stuck with the dread of knowing yet another uninspiring day is about to begin. When canned-coffee people see the morning flowers, all they can think of is that they probably should water them. They don’t experience the wonder that nature has provided them. Coffee or flowers, both are just chores in their otherwise dull, routine existence.  

When you take the time to grind your beans, you show that you are a person who puts thought and care into everything that you do. No matter how trivial the task, you will find a way to put just a small bit of your heart and soul into all you do and make the world a better place in the process.  In taking the time to make something as ordinary as a cup of coffee and turn it into an experience for all to enjoy, you are announcing to the world that average is not acceptable.  You are saying with your actions that you are capable of much more than the daily mediocrity practiced by the masses. You demonstrate a basic faith that will soon be rewarded with a unique dark brew that will tantalize your senses and satisfy some of your deepest desires.  People who grind their beans are just naturally predisposed to excellence in all they do. These people are the creators and innovators in our society. They are the leaders of industry and enrich the lives of all whom they come into contact with.

When you scoop your coffee from the can, you are doing only what is needed to make a hot beverage that, while promising to taste somewhat like a cup of coffee, is often found lacking. It is the bare-minimum mentality that limits these people to middle management lives, living by someone else’s rules in closed-off little cubicles, with little or no hope of breathing fresh air and soaking in the warmth humanity has to offer. These folks, who can’t even muster the minimum amount of motivation necessary to create the soul-enriching experience that only a fine cup of lovingly crafted coffee can bring, will find they have little else to motivate them for the rest of the day.  When all you look to achieve is that initial caffeine fix first thing in the morning, all you can hope to experience is the jitters and possibly a case of heartburn. There is no motivation to excel in that tasteless cup of pond sludge. All you will have is a lifeless, tasteless cup of coffee that couldn’t inspire anyone to strive for greatness. 

Should you choose to put the effort forth to create a work of art poured into a ceramic mug instead of scooping the grounds out of the can, you will find yourself poised for success in all you do. When you experience an aromatic cup of coffee made with beans that have been lovingly handled from the time they were picked from the tree, and specially roasted to create just the right balance of richness with a touch of bitterness, and when you then brew it with a natural artesian spring water to release the beans inherent natural goodness without the taint of manmade chemicals, then, and only then, will you find the desire to not only succeed in this world of ours, but to do so with creativity and vigor.  Those who merely opened the can can’t begin to imagine what greatness they have missed.