Gifts come to us in many shapes and sizes and sometimes in ways that we least expect. Although Joel has many challenges, he also has many gifts. We discovered Joel's prowess with the alphabet when he was taken to an eye doctor at the age of 3. The doctor placed the simplest chart he could find and instructed Joel to simply point which direction the E was going. The doctor pointed to the backwards E and Joel said "3"! The doctor looked at Joel curiously and pointed to the E facing down. Joel promptly said "M"! The doctor then quickly point to the E facing up and Joel said "W" and the doctor responded with "why don't we use the adult chart with regular letters?" From that point on the test went much better.
In spite of being autistic or maybe because of it, Joel has developed his lettering and spelling skills to high achievement level. Give him time and a computer and he can correctly spell any word pronounced correctly. When allowed to have an aid to keep him on task and allowed to use a computer, Joel has either won or come in second place on most spelling contests.
In first grade, Joel was able to write his name from right to left and left to right at the same time with both hands. He is able to see the entire alphabet in his mind so that he instantly knows how many letters a word has or a sentence. He quickly orders words and letters based on his unique image of the alphabet and how words are put together. Ordering numbers and letters is not simply a gift but is almost a perfection for him. He never makes a mistake in shelving books or alphabetizing anything so that he is an invaluable asset to any library.
He can say the alphabet in any order and instantly knows when something is spelled wrongly on a paper. This has caused problems occasionally because he does not hesitate to correct people when they misspell a word. He does not correct people out of arrogance but rather simply to "make it right." Thankfully, he has many times helped me out before sending a letter or a paper.
In addition to Joel's unusual spelling abilities, he also rarely forgets a name or details about a person. He memorizes facts that have little meaning to us but for whatever reason, have great meaning to him. He will often ask a stranger if he or she is married, children's names, relatives names, and sometimes even their weight.
Although his short term memory is severely challenged, his long-term memory is exceptional. He will remember people and events from many years before and often uses that knowledge to help him in a current situations.
We often rely on Joel's gifts and find ourselves baffled by him but also proud of him. We believe that there is a place in the world for Joel and the world is better of because of him.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Gold in the Cloud
There are timeless moments stretched into timeless years where the need to lift ourselves beyond reality is both necessary and beneficial for mental and emotional health. Nature's first green may be gold and it may indeed be a hard hue to hold, (forgive me Robert Frost), yet I choose to keep the gold at least every now and then!
Sometimes I seek the peaceful tranquility found on a fantasy cloud. A cumulous, soft cloud where all is quiet without distractions, without stress, without pressures, without expectations, and without direction. A habitue of comfort and total relaxation. As I reside completely in the cloud, I slowly but surely remove all of the robustious events that surround me, and I choose to find solace in the environment and peace in the inglenook of the gift I have been given. The gift of the cloud.
So I lift myself off the land and take temporary flight to the companionship of the cloud where all is right and all is good and all is timeless and existence is simple. Unlike Plato's cave where the reality can be found in the shadows, my cloud is a reality in and of itself. My journey is not so much an escape but is a choice to see the world with a new vision and seek after gold without value and silver without color. So that precious metals are precious not for their monetary purpose but for their intrinsic worth. Metals are people and people have intrinsic worth.
The intrinsic cloud that envelopes me is one of optimism, beauty, joy, faith, and hope and living within it provides a recharging of the system that states though "nothing gold can stay," all can be seen as gold. So I live my life in the cloud, in the atmospheric phenomenon of golden haze that tints all reality. I love my cloud and I love my space trip though brief it may be. I spend a timeless eternity in my cloud that in real time may be but a milisecond but in joy time is forever.
I return to the world of reality a better person with a renewed sense of all that is good in the world. I see the gold around me and the expectations for me that can only be realized with the Master's Hand guiding my footsteps. My space trip was beneficial, temporary, pleasant, and spiritual. I come back an improved person.
And as I look upon the world in which I live, I realize my journey was not about me but instead was about everyone else. For all people I see are now gold and gold they will stay. Thanks RC for being gold and thanks for material.
Sometimes I seek the peaceful tranquility found on a fantasy cloud. A cumulous, soft cloud where all is quiet without distractions, without stress, without pressures, without expectations, and without direction. A habitue of comfort and total relaxation. As I reside completely in the cloud, I slowly but surely remove all of the robustious events that surround me, and I choose to find solace in the environment and peace in the inglenook of the gift I have been given. The gift of the cloud.
So I lift myself off the land and take temporary flight to the companionship of the cloud where all is right and all is good and all is timeless and existence is simple. Unlike Plato's cave where the reality can be found in the shadows, my cloud is a reality in and of itself. My journey is not so much an escape but is a choice to see the world with a new vision and seek after gold without value and silver without color. So that precious metals are precious not for their monetary purpose but for their intrinsic worth. Metals are people and people have intrinsic worth.
The intrinsic cloud that envelopes me is one of optimism, beauty, joy, faith, and hope and living within it provides a recharging of the system that states though "nothing gold can stay," all can be seen as gold. So I live my life in the cloud, in the atmospheric phenomenon of golden haze that tints all reality. I love my cloud and I love my space trip though brief it may be. I spend a timeless eternity in my cloud that in real time may be but a milisecond but in joy time is forever.
I return to the world of reality a better person with a renewed sense of all that is good in the world. I see the gold around me and the expectations for me that can only be realized with the Master's Hand guiding my footsteps. My space trip was beneficial, temporary, pleasant, and spiritual. I come back an improved person.
And as I look upon the world in which I live, I realize my journey was not about me but instead was about everyone else. For all people I see are now gold and gold they will stay. Thanks RC for being gold and thanks for material.
Life in the Pond
“Don’t eat it,” Grandpa Catfish said, “Be disciplined for the good of the whole.” The scrumptious nugget of good smelling food lay in front of the young fish but he wisely resisted the temptation and felt the eye of Grandpa upon him as he remained quietly in the mud.
It had been a long summer. The lack of rain coupled with extreme heat had caused terrible evaporation of the water in the tank. What had once been a glorious, free existence full of unlimited food, space, fun, and frivolous attention to relationship building, had fallen into a quagmire of despair, hunger, claustrophobia, and fear. The world in which they inhabited had closed in around them and become a prison with little hope for freedom anytime soon. As the tank became smaller and smaller, so did the optimism and hope. The sun raged upon the little world, the food became scarce, and the need to swim fast and far simply became a memory of days gone by. What little food was available was discouraged due to not wanting to grow or increase any waste that might ultimately be the demise of the class of catfish.
What had once been an adventure to find a new friend had become a burden caused from undue close proximity. Fin met fin and skin touched skin as the catfish were forced to live without the luxury of swimming. It was not unusual to hear bickering and fighting among even the closest friends. In some ways, the fighting lent a feeling of spirit to the little clan, but eventually the disagreeing dissolved into a quiet despondency and a void of the spirit of life that sustains us even in the most difficult of times.
Meanwhile Grandpa Catfish did what he had done several times before in his long life. He buried himself down in the cool mud and did not move. He used very little to no energy and therefore needed no food. He remained still and happy and disciplined and hopeful that the rains would return as they had before and he would continue his former existence. He was large. Very large and very experienced in the art of survival. He made efforts to instruct the young fish in how to keep living, but inevitably many of them would succumb to selfish rebellion and end up fodder for the raccoons or birds or even on the end of fishing pole. Yet throughout the long summer, some of the fish did learn and buried themselves successfully in the mud to wait out the drought.
The toughest times were the flirtations of drops. The little teasers that fell from the sky only to stop after a few moments. Droplets that did little to nothing for tank and for the fish but which often caused an emotional impact only to rebound into total despair. So the summer continued and the wise catfish hunkered down in the mud patiently but also rather intensely awaiting the rain.
And the little catfish sacrificed his desire for the little nugget of food for the good of the whole. He was rewarded with his life as he remained in the mud and when the rains did come, he returned to the old ways but this time prudently aware that when the water decreases, the wisdom should increase. The little catfish just may one day be the next Grandpa Catfish. Such is the life of a catfish in the pond.
It had been a long summer. The lack of rain coupled with extreme heat had caused terrible evaporation of the water in the tank. What had once been a glorious, free existence full of unlimited food, space, fun, and frivolous attention to relationship building, had fallen into a quagmire of despair, hunger, claustrophobia, and fear. The world in which they inhabited had closed in around them and become a prison with little hope for freedom anytime soon. As the tank became smaller and smaller, so did the optimism and hope. The sun raged upon the little world, the food became scarce, and the need to swim fast and far simply became a memory of days gone by. What little food was available was discouraged due to not wanting to grow or increase any waste that might ultimately be the demise of the class of catfish.
What had once been an adventure to find a new friend had become a burden caused from undue close proximity. Fin met fin and skin touched skin as the catfish were forced to live without the luxury of swimming. It was not unusual to hear bickering and fighting among even the closest friends. In some ways, the fighting lent a feeling of spirit to the little clan, but eventually the disagreeing dissolved into a quiet despondency and a void of the spirit of life that sustains us even in the most difficult of times.
Meanwhile Grandpa Catfish did what he had done several times before in his long life. He buried himself down in the cool mud and did not move. He used very little to no energy and therefore needed no food. He remained still and happy and disciplined and hopeful that the rains would return as they had before and he would continue his former existence. He was large. Very large and very experienced in the art of survival. He made efforts to instruct the young fish in how to keep living, but inevitably many of them would succumb to selfish rebellion and end up fodder for the raccoons or birds or even on the end of fishing pole. Yet throughout the long summer, some of the fish did learn and buried themselves successfully in the mud to wait out the drought.
The toughest times were the flirtations of drops. The little teasers that fell from the sky only to stop after a few moments. Droplets that did little to nothing for tank and for the fish but which often caused an emotional impact only to rebound into total despair. So the summer continued and the wise catfish hunkered down in the mud patiently but also rather intensely awaiting the rain.
And the little catfish sacrificed his desire for the little nugget of food for the good of the whole. He was rewarded with his life as he remained in the mud and when the rains did come, he returned to the old ways but this time prudently aware that when the water decreases, the wisdom should increase. The little catfish just may one day be the next Grandpa Catfish. Such is the life of a catfish in the pond.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Literally speaking
Yesterday Joel mentioned he would like to go eat Mexican food for dinner. This was not an unusual request since Joel could live his life eating chips and salsa with great gusto and joyous unbridled happiness. But after he gave his request, I smiled and said that sounded good and that I was happy that Mexican food "floated his boat." This comment resulted in a very peculiar look of confusion from Joel and reminded of the issue of literal interpretation.
One of the typical characteristics of autism is the inability to understand subtleties and expressions. This has caused many years of clarifying, restatement, and some humorous situations. I recall the time when Joel ate three hamburgers while watching his younger brother play basketball. After the game, while we were driving home, I asked Joel if he had a hollow leg. A few minutes later, I saw Joel tapping on his leg and I finally asked him what he was doing. He turned to me and asked which one of his legs was hollow!
We have learned to qualify our language and be more precise with our meanings. Often, though, we forget and use creative language to fit the situation. My wife, in trying to get Joel focused on finishing his homework, told him that if he didn't finish it soon, it would be something that would keep "hanging over his head." Later she saw Joel touching his head and when she asked him why he said he wondered if his homework had become a crown on his head.
One of my big mistakes was telling Joel that deer meat could cause him to grow horns on his head. He then started feeling his head for the horns and refused to eat deer meat until I convinced him it was a joke. Another time, he was talking on my cell phone to my wife and after the call, I told him to "hang up the phone." He tried desperately to actually hang the phone on different items in the car before I realized what he was doing and weakly explained that "hanging up the phone" does not actually mean to hang up the phone.
We have explained "money doesn't grow on trees," "a New York minute," "slow as a seven year itch," "dry as a bone," "squeaky clean," and "did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?" One of the most confusing was "you could end up in the doghouse!" All these and more need explanation and clarifying for Joel. Words and phrases we take for granted that everyone understands often require deciphering and clear definition for Joel.
In the end, it has become an enjoyable family game to be exact, clear, precise, and kind in our language and in our treatment of each other. For Joel, we are literal, loving, and without excessive loquaciousness. We do this for Joel and as always, it is worth it.
One of the typical characteristics of autism is the inability to understand subtleties and expressions. This has caused many years of clarifying, restatement, and some humorous situations. I recall the time when Joel ate three hamburgers while watching his younger brother play basketball. After the game, while we were driving home, I asked Joel if he had a hollow leg. A few minutes later, I saw Joel tapping on his leg and I finally asked him what he was doing. He turned to me and asked which one of his legs was hollow!
We have learned to qualify our language and be more precise with our meanings. Often, though, we forget and use creative language to fit the situation. My wife, in trying to get Joel focused on finishing his homework, told him that if he didn't finish it soon, it would be something that would keep "hanging over his head." Later she saw Joel touching his head and when she asked him why he said he wondered if his homework had become a crown on his head.
One of my big mistakes was telling Joel that deer meat could cause him to grow horns on his head. He then started feeling his head for the horns and refused to eat deer meat until I convinced him it was a joke. Another time, he was talking on my cell phone to my wife and after the call, I told him to "hang up the phone." He tried desperately to actually hang the phone on different items in the car before I realized what he was doing and weakly explained that "hanging up the phone" does not actually mean to hang up the phone.
We have explained "money doesn't grow on trees," "a New York minute," "slow as a seven year itch," "dry as a bone," "squeaky clean," and "did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?" One of the most confusing was "you could end up in the doghouse!" All these and more need explanation and clarifying for Joel. Words and phrases we take for granted that everyone understands often require deciphering and clear definition for Joel.
In the end, it has become an enjoyable family game to be exact, clear, precise, and kind in our language and in our treatment of each other. For Joel, we are literal, loving, and without excessive loquaciousness. We do this for Joel and as always, it is worth it.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Medication for Autism
Medicating our middle son Joel who is autistic has been an experimental and learning process that has evolved through many mistakes and some successes up to the present time. As parents desperate to find an answer or at least some sort of medical help for Joel, we searched through journals, magazines, and sought a myriad of physicians' opinions. To deal with his allergies, Joel was taken through difficult and painful allergy tests and for over a year was injected with various anti-allergy medications.
In addition, Joel was medicated for ear problems, sleep problems, bladder control problems, behavior problems, learning problems, and physiological problems. We have worked through homeopathy, vitamins, enzymes, minerals, and many types of behavioral improvement drugs. Each new regime invited hope of improvement, a false sense of optimism, and finally a big disappointment.
I recall using a common drug for many years when we continued to increase his dosage to insure proper behavior for his obvious hyperactivity and attention deficit disorder. After steadily adding more of the drug to his body, I one day realized how thin he had become and how extreme was his behavior. I took him off the drug (only to be fussed at for improperly dealing with my son by a physician in another city) and watched him gain 15 pounds in a few weeks.
I recall making an appointment with a so-called specialist, who came highly recommended. We subsequently spent $250 plus a motel room, only to have the specialist see him for a total of 15 minutes, inform us he was very slow to obey, and write a prescription for yet another different but similar behavior altering medication. Within 3 weeks, we recognized he once again was losing weight and rebounding dramatically off the medicine each evening. We decided not to return to that physician, forgot to cancel the next appointment, and received a "no-show" bill for $150!
Many years and many medications later, we did our own exhaustive research and discovered a correlation between various neurological disorders and autism. Autism is primarily a neurological problem not a behavioral one. Although the causes of autism continue to be debated, ultimately it is a weakness in the brain neurology that results in a wide disparity of problems within the autism spectrum. Following this conclusion we conferred with a physician who agreed to try but also monitor a drug to treat the neurological problem rather than the behavioral one.
Although things are far from perfect, we immediately noticed vast improvement and continue to be thrilled with the results. While we do not reject the power of vitamins and behavior modification techniques, we are happy right now with our medication choice. It is quite expensive and we continue to search for the correct insurance package that will adequately meet our needs.
But amidst our journey for Joel, truth emerged. Ultimately, we realized in our constant quest for the right medication for our son, that we had actually discovered the secret ingredient to success for Joel. It was right in front of our noses for years and was the same ingredient we used for our other children. We had applied a constant and devoted emotion to Joel that we use today. It is called unconditional love and it will never change.
In addition, Joel was medicated for ear problems, sleep problems, bladder control problems, behavior problems, learning problems, and physiological problems. We have worked through homeopathy, vitamins, enzymes, minerals, and many types of behavioral improvement drugs. Each new regime invited hope of improvement, a false sense of optimism, and finally a big disappointment.
I recall using a common drug for many years when we continued to increase his dosage to insure proper behavior for his obvious hyperactivity and attention deficit disorder. After steadily adding more of the drug to his body, I one day realized how thin he had become and how extreme was his behavior. I took him off the drug (only to be fussed at for improperly dealing with my son by a physician in another city) and watched him gain 15 pounds in a few weeks.
I recall making an appointment with a so-called specialist, who came highly recommended. We subsequently spent $250 plus a motel room, only to have the specialist see him for a total of 15 minutes, inform us he was very slow to obey, and write a prescription for yet another different but similar behavior altering medication. Within 3 weeks, we recognized he once again was losing weight and rebounding dramatically off the medicine each evening. We decided not to return to that physician, forgot to cancel the next appointment, and received a "no-show" bill for $150!
Many years and many medications later, we did our own exhaustive research and discovered a correlation between various neurological disorders and autism. Autism is primarily a neurological problem not a behavioral one. Although the causes of autism continue to be debated, ultimately it is a weakness in the brain neurology that results in a wide disparity of problems within the autism spectrum. Following this conclusion we conferred with a physician who agreed to try but also monitor a drug to treat the neurological problem rather than the behavioral one.
Although things are far from perfect, we immediately noticed vast improvement and continue to be thrilled with the results. While we do not reject the power of vitamins and behavior modification techniques, we are happy right now with our medication choice. It is quite expensive and we continue to search for the correct insurance package that will adequately meet our needs.
But amidst our journey for Joel, truth emerged. Ultimately, we realized in our constant quest for the right medication for our son, that we had actually discovered the secret ingredient to success for Joel. It was right in front of our noses for years and was the same ingredient we used for our other children. We had applied a constant and devoted emotion to Joel that we use today. It is called unconditional love and it will never change.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
School Board
My three years on the school board of a 2A school district were filled with stress, rewards, enlightenment, and confusion. A school board is comprised of seven elected members from the community. Each board member is voted on through the democratic election process and, in the case of a small district, each has a dual responsibility to voters and to the district. It is assumed that the responsibility rarely if ever becomes diametrically opposed.
The school board member has a central obligation to monitor the activities of the superintendant and therefore acts as the ruling body over the superintendent who governs the district. The superintendent in many cases uses the board for major educational decisions, fiscal decisions, personnel approval, and policy making. A succesful board operates as a team to provide general guidance for the superintendant and for the district. The day to day management of the district is the responsibility of the superintendent who manages the principals who in turn govern the faculty and staff.
It is not role of the school board to provide direct oversight in the day to day management of the district. This curbs the inevitable complaining of parents and faculty to school board members. The wise member refers complaints to the proper channels which generally is the principal in charge of the campus.
Although most school board members have an agenda of some kind, the most objective and fair members tend to vote with equity and commitment to the educational process without selfish regard of their own personal interests. In my case, due to having a special learner in the family and in the district, it was often difficult not to emphasize the need for increased allocation of special education resources. In addition, my years and training as a musician encouraged me to keep an eye out for fair and impartial treatment of the music curriculum in the district.
Yet, ultimately, by studying state requirements, averages, and providing general guidance to meet district goals, voting was usually clear cut and supportive of the superintendant or principals. At the same time, I believe as a lifetime supporter of he arts, that I had an obligation to remind other board members that the arts play a vital role in the humanizing of society and therefore are integral to the curriculum.
I believe it is of supreme value if you are elected by the public to uphold the highest standards of education and to ensure a well-rounded, balanced curriculum is being taught to all the students. Although the state has made some curriculum mandates that are difficult, it is still within the realm of possibility to offer music and art to all grade levels as well as emphasizing all the academic disciplines.
While serving on the board, I endeavored to provide an objective yet balanced look at the curriculum and to help the superintendent in his efforts of management and oversight when needed. I enjoyed my brief time and it has definitely whet my appetite for further political action.
The school board member has a central obligation to monitor the activities of the superintendant and therefore acts as the ruling body over the superintendent who governs the district. The superintendent in many cases uses the board for major educational decisions, fiscal decisions, personnel approval, and policy making. A succesful board operates as a team to provide general guidance for the superintendant and for the district. The day to day management of the district is the responsibility of the superintendent who manages the principals who in turn govern the faculty and staff.
It is not role of the school board to provide direct oversight in the day to day management of the district. This curbs the inevitable complaining of parents and faculty to school board members. The wise member refers complaints to the proper channels which generally is the principal in charge of the campus.
Although most school board members have an agenda of some kind, the most objective and fair members tend to vote with equity and commitment to the educational process without selfish regard of their own personal interests. In my case, due to having a special learner in the family and in the district, it was often difficult not to emphasize the need for increased allocation of special education resources. In addition, my years and training as a musician encouraged me to keep an eye out for fair and impartial treatment of the music curriculum in the district.
Yet, ultimately, by studying state requirements, averages, and providing general guidance to meet district goals, voting was usually clear cut and supportive of the superintendant or principals. At the same time, I believe as a lifetime supporter of he arts, that I had an obligation to remind other board members that the arts play a vital role in the humanizing of society and therefore are integral to the curriculum.
I believe it is of supreme value if you are elected by the public to uphold the highest standards of education and to ensure a well-rounded, balanced curriculum is being taught to all the students. Although the state has made some curriculum mandates that are difficult, it is still within the realm of possibility to offer music and art to all grade levels as well as emphasizing all the academic disciplines.
While serving on the board, I endeavored to provide an objective yet balanced look at the curriculum and to help the superintendent in his efforts of management and oversight when needed. I enjoyed my brief time and it has definitely whet my appetite for further political action.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Shift Key
The other night as I sat typing, a large and aggressive mosquito became interested in me. Over the years, I have learned that I am quite attractive to mosquitos. For years I believed it to be my magnetic personality, charm, and good looks, but further research has revealed that some people emit certain odors and have certain skin characteristics that mosquitos find fascinating. I myself am rich in folic and lactic acid in my skin apparently. If a mosquito is near, it will find me! Luckily, I have good hearing and can generally hear one before it feasts on me for too long.
I recall a strange moment in college when I was playing in the Abilene Philharmonic and getting ready for a Ferrante and Teicher concert. A mosquito enjoyed my arm for quite awhile before I noticed, he then flew to my music where I quickly sent him to mosquito heaven. The result, however, was a bloody spot and a dead mosquito on the 2nd horn part of the Ferrante and Teicher music. Eleven years later, I was playing 1st horn in a different orchestra and getting ready for a Ferrante and Teicher concert (it now seems rather fortuitous to have had the "pleasure" of doing two Ferrante and Teicher concerts in my career). The 2nd horn player began laughing and pointed out a circled red spot and an encrusted mosquito on the music. It was my old friend, the mosquito! Along with the circled spot were years of creative comments from other horn players. I am happy to report I had provided many years of linguistic enjoyment for many horn players.
Anyway, let me move to the present again. I was typing on my computer when a large mosquito flew near my face and landed on my hand. In my frantic efforts to discourage his meal, my finger got hooked on the left shift key and removed it in the same motion I removed the mosquito from his current living state. Although pleased with the mosquito results, I was not pleased with the loss of the shift key.
I am now typing without a left shift key and am having to press firmly and specifically on a funny little rubber point located in the center of where the former shift key had been. It is awkward and uncomfortable. As often happens when we lose something we had once taken for granted, I am now learning to appreciate not just the shift key, but all the keys.
But the saddest thing of all is that no matter how shifty it may seem, when a musician loses the key, nothing goes right!
I recall a strange moment in college when I was playing in the Abilene Philharmonic and getting ready for a Ferrante and Teicher concert. A mosquito enjoyed my arm for quite awhile before I noticed, he then flew to my music where I quickly sent him to mosquito heaven. The result, however, was a bloody spot and a dead mosquito on the 2nd horn part of the Ferrante and Teicher music. Eleven years later, I was playing 1st horn in a different orchestra and getting ready for a Ferrante and Teicher concert (it now seems rather fortuitous to have had the "pleasure" of doing two Ferrante and Teicher concerts in my career). The 2nd horn player began laughing and pointed out a circled red spot and an encrusted mosquito on the music. It was my old friend, the mosquito! Along with the circled spot were years of creative comments from other horn players. I am happy to report I had provided many years of linguistic enjoyment for many horn players.
Anyway, let me move to the present again. I was typing on my computer when a large mosquito flew near my face and landed on my hand. In my frantic efforts to discourage his meal, my finger got hooked on the left shift key and removed it in the same motion I removed the mosquito from his current living state. Although pleased with the mosquito results, I was not pleased with the loss of the shift key.
I am now typing without a left shift key and am having to press firmly and specifically on a funny little rubber point located in the center of where the former shift key had been. It is awkward and uncomfortable. As often happens when we lose something we had once taken for granted, I am now learning to appreciate not just the shift key, but all the keys.
But the saddest thing of all is that no matter how shifty it may seem, when a musician loses the key, nothing goes right!
Thursday, August 17, 2006
The treasure
Working on her computer, day after day, was her treasure and her meaning in life. It was the source of her joy and happiness. But after graduating from the online university, which incidentally is recognized as one of the finest online universities in the country, she found herself in a quandary as she sought employment in the marketplace. She was quite employable having achieved remarkable writing prowess in a multitude of disciplines and having mastered the art of the computer on many levels. While she could remain in her apartment making money using her craft and skill and now her degree, she felt the missing ingredient in her life was interaction with real people. So as she filled out employment applications and was contacted by email with frequency and although the job offers were lucrative, she elected, rather courageously, to pursue those positions which required face to face interviews. In most cases, she noted that the best jobs with the most benefits and highest salaries did indeed require a face to face interview.
But she turned down each opportunity due to not being ready for the interview. Facing another human being had become not just a problem, not just an obstacle, but had actually become her identity. People scared her. People were often suspicious or expressive or confusing or unpredictable or indefinable. All the traits that formed her very makeup and her very being were not just hidden but almost negligible.
Finally the right job and the right interview was selected, but the morning she woke up, she had altered and found herself in dire straits. The mirror on the wall revealed what she feared. She had become a strange object with a colorful screen and keys. She was a laptop. She quickly did a search on transformation and altering states and even shapeshifters and discovered a story that was oddly familiar and grossly disturbing by Franz Kafka called Metamorphosis.
As she sat in her chair and searched within herself, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to react, and unable to express, the greatest fear of all began to become obvious. She was contented and had no fear. Her metamorphosis into a laptop had resulted in the loss of emotion of any kind. While fear may not be a desired emotion, it is a human expression of feeling albeit negative. But all emotion had been removed with her altered form.
As the minutes moved into hours, she fell deeper in a cavern of darkness and objectivity--a bottomless void with no real meaning. Her human world was gone and replaced by a machine. Her thoughts became mechanical and her heart and soul became concrete. She was neither happy nor sad, neither scared or courageous, she did not love nor did she hate. She simply existed. She had become what she did. Her parameters were limited to the box in which she found herself. She required no food, lost all bodily functions, and lived only to be what she was--no more and no less.
She had dehumanized her world. The grand and glorious world of human thought, human spirit, creativity, feelings, joy, sorrow, confusion, and unpredictableness had all disappeared. But as she sat and computed, she began to seek release from her captured state. She found the last small but potential tremendous seed of desire to be something different and began to rise out of the murky sea.
As her human shape returned, she smiled and vowed never again to fear human contact. On her way out of the door, she took a quick glance at the computer sitting at the desk, and looked forward to her interview. Henceforth, the object of her obsession, became merely a tool not an end. She forevermore relished each moment with another person and never again lost her humanity. For being a human was the treasure of her life.
But she turned down each opportunity due to not being ready for the interview. Facing another human being had become not just a problem, not just an obstacle, but had actually become her identity. People scared her. People were often suspicious or expressive or confusing or unpredictable or indefinable. All the traits that formed her very makeup and her very being were not just hidden but almost negligible.
Finally the right job and the right interview was selected, but the morning she woke up, she had altered and found herself in dire straits. The mirror on the wall revealed what she feared. She had become a strange object with a colorful screen and keys. She was a laptop. She quickly did a search on transformation and altering states and even shapeshifters and discovered a story that was oddly familiar and grossly disturbing by Franz Kafka called Metamorphosis.
As she sat in her chair and searched within herself, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to react, and unable to express, the greatest fear of all began to become obvious. She was contented and had no fear. Her metamorphosis into a laptop had resulted in the loss of emotion of any kind. While fear may not be a desired emotion, it is a human expression of feeling albeit negative. But all emotion had been removed with her altered form.
As the minutes moved into hours, she fell deeper in a cavern of darkness and objectivity--a bottomless void with no real meaning. Her human world was gone and replaced by a machine. Her thoughts became mechanical and her heart and soul became concrete. She was neither happy nor sad, neither scared or courageous, she did not love nor did she hate. She simply existed. She had become what she did. Her parameters were limited to the box in which she found herself. She required no food, lost all bodily functions, and lived only to be what she was--no more and no less.
She had dehumanized her world. The grand and glorious world of human thought, human spirit, creativity, feelings, joy, sorrow, confusion, and unpredictableness had all disappeared. But as she sat and computed, she began to seek release from her captured state. She found the last small but potential tremendous seed of desire to be something different and began to rise out of the murky sea.
As her human shape returned, she smiled and vowed never again to fear human contact. On her way out of the door, she took a quick glance at the computer sitting at the desk, and looked forward to her interview. Henceforth, the object of her obsession, became merely a tool not an end. She forevermore relished each moment with another person and never again lost her humanity. For being a human was the treasure of her life.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Each day
Each morning, after we knew something was wrong, and after we had done some preliminary research into the problem, we wondered and often prayed for something magical and wonderful to occur during the night. Maybe the normal fairy had visited Joel and waved a wand containing "typical" and "common" dust all over him and he would wake as the same Joel but with all the normal characteristics found in young boys of his age.
Each morning, we would wake him full of hope and desire that all the problems would have disappeared into the night and that Joel would be all the things we wanted him to be. But all our hopes were in vain. Instead, day after day, we encountered the same autistic boy he was the day before. No change. No hope and no altering of the truth. Our Joel was and is autistic.
The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. We eventually accepted that there was no magic cure and no sudden change and that Joel would not suddenly become the boy we wanted him to be. The passing of time resulted in a type of resignation of reality. An acceptance of the truth and no longer a fatuous belief in the dream of transformation of our son.
But as the years melded together, we began our transformation. I am not sure if the change happened suddenly or was a slow but deliberate altering of the unconscious. The acceptance and resignation of who Joel was, became something new and exciting. We changed and with it our view of Joel. Instead of being an anomaly with limited gifts and peculiar behavior, Joel became a superb example of all that is good in human nature.
When we woke each day seeking change in Joel, instead what we ultimately sought was change in ourselves. It was our hearts that transformed and our minds that changed and our goals that found the truth. Instead of imagining the golden horizon of perfection that existed in our dreams, our dreams were and are right in front of us. The golden utopia and the amalgamation of our hearts and minds are manifested in our son Joel. Joel who makes the world a better place. Joel who offers love, patience, tolerance, and above all joy to all he meets.
Now each day we wake, anxiously anticipating the boy who has made a difference in all of us. The magic dust that we looked for happened many years ago and it happened to Joel, it happened to us, and it happens to those who meet him. Your happiness may be in front of you: find it, embrace it, and be thankful for it. Joy comes in many forms and many sizes--for us, it is our children, and we love Joel just the way he is. We now recognize the blessing poured upon us in the form of the incredible boy Joel. We did not deserve him but he is ours just the same. For that we are lucky and thankful.
Each morning, we would wake him full of hope and desire that all the problems would have disappeared into the night and that Joel would be all the things we wanted him to be. But all our hopes were in vain. Instead, day after day, we encountered the same autistic boy he was the day before. No change. No hope and no altering of the truth. Our Joel was and is autistic.
The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. We eventually accepted that there was no magic cure and no sudden change and that Joel would not suddenly become the boy we wanted him to be. The passing of time resulted in a type of resignation of reality. An acceptance of the truth and no longer a fatuous belief in the dream of transformation of our son.
But as the years melded together, we began our transformation. I am not sure if the change happened suddenly or was a slow but deliberate altering of the unconscious. The acceptance and resignation of who Joel was, became something new and exciting. We changed and with it our view of Joel. Instead of being an anomaly with limited gifts and peculiar behavior, Joel became a superb example of all that is good in human nature.
When we woke each day seeking change in Joel, instead what we ultimately sought was change in ourselves. It was our hearts that transformed and our minds that changed and our goals that found the truth. Instead of imagining the golden horizon of perfection that existed in our dreams, our dreams were and are right in front of us. The golden utopia and the amalgamation of our hearts and minds are manifested in our son Joel. Joel who makes the world a better place. Joel who offers love, patience, tolerance, and above all joy to all he meets.
Now each day we wake, anxiously anticipating the boy who has made a difference in all of us. The magic dust that we looked for happened many years ago and it happened to Joel, it happened to us, and it happens to those who meet him. Your happiness may be in front of you: find it, embrace it, and be thankful for it. Joy comes in many forms and many sizes--for us, it is our children, and we love Joel just the way he is. We now recognize the blessing poured upon us in the form of the incredible boy Joel. We did not deserve him but he is ours just the same. For that we are lucky and thankful.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Flying for all.
After years of scientific and mechanical dedication to the goal, he finally achieved his goal, his dream, his inglenook so to speak. He created a mini-airplane built out of an old sports car. It had begun years before when he combined his scientific background with his passion of old cars. Following careful study of aerodynamics and applying his ingenuity to the desperate need for alternate forms of transportation, he had developed a new vehicle—a type of hover craft replete with all the components of an airplane including lift, thrust, weight, and drag.
Although a scientific and mathematical explanation of how the machine worked is certainly warranted, time constraints will not allow such meanderings. In summary though, wings emerge from the bottom of the car, a small jet engine provides the thrust, the weight of the car is kept to a minimum through plastic parts, and being very small, any drag is removed through retraction of the elements. Upon reaching a certain speed, the thrust kicks in, the wings materialize, and the machine rises approximately 50 to 100 feet in the air. Further radar guided rays remind the driver, who is the only rider, to avoid telephone wires, towers, and various obstacles.
The flying machine was very fun, but also quite loud, very expensive to operate, and only allowed one person. As the inventor flew his remarkable contraption around, he began to experience a new and curious emotion. He had spent a lifetime working on his invention—perfecting it, molding it, designing it, and mostly, loving it. But as he flew above the rest of the world, he began to wonder if he were in fact, below the rest of the world. It was an odd sensation born out of the perplexing yet oddly penetrating realization. He was lonely.
He watched people at theme parks, he watched them at malls, he watched them on highways, entering buildings, going to church, attending sports games, and cultural events, and it occurred to him that his invention was primarily individualistic. It helped nobody and did nothing for anyone. His was a selfish and rather expensive toy that only served to exaggerate the loneliness he had experienced for many years.
Eventually, after the new had worn off, he returned his marvelous but selfish invention to the garage where it stayed. He again became an important part of the world and returned to society.
Although elevated and revered as an important and necessary concept for growth, Ayn Rand’s emphasis on selfishness as serving the greater good contains flaws. If your progress is selfishly motivated and serves only one person, the results are empty and devoid of meaning; for it is in altruism that joy finds fruition. Work hard and work often, but don’t work only for yourself. Invent well and fly for all.
Although a scientific and mathematical explanation of how the machine worked is certainly warranted, time constraints will not allow such meanderings. In summary though, wings emerge from the bottom of the car, a small jet engine provides the thrust, the weight of the car is kept to a minimum through plastic parts, and being very small, any drag is removed through retraction of the elements. Upon reaching a certain speed, the thrust kicks in, the wings materialize, and the machine rises approximately 50 to 100 feet in the air. Further radar guided rays remind the driver, who is the only rider, to avoid telephone wires, towers, and various obstacles.
The flying machine was very fun, but also quite loud, very expensive to operate, and only allowed one person. As the inventor flew his remarkable contraption around, he began to experience a new and curious emotion. He had spent a lifetime working on his invention—perfecting it, molding it, designing it, and mostly, loving it. But as he flew above the rest of the world, he began to wonder if he were in fact, below the rest of the world. It was an odd sensation born out of the perplexing yet oddly penetrating realization. He was lonely.
He watched people at theme parks, he watched them at malls, he watched them on highways, entering buildings, going to church, attending sports games, and cultural events, and it occurred to him that his invention was primarily individualistic. It helped nobody and did nothing for anyone. His was a selfish and rather expensive toy that only served to exaggerate the loneliness he had experienced for many years.
Eventually, after the new had worn off, he returned his marvelous but selfish invention to the garage where it stayed. He again became an important part of the world and returned to society.
Although elevated and revered as an important and necessary concept for growth, Ayn Rand’s emphasis on selfishness as serving the greater good contains flaws. If your progress is selfishly motivated and serves only one person, the results are empty and devoid of meaning; for it is in altruism that joy finds fruition. Work hard and work often, but don’t work only for yourself. Invent well and fly for all.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Potential
As I sit on my front porch looking out on the dead grass and wondering when it will rain, it occurs to me that even a little water could and would promote green growth in the grass. All I have to do is get out the hose and begin watering the grass. The grass has potential but I need to help it. I choose, however, not to water the grass due to the expense and the time needed. So the grass withers away and turns brown and becomes totally dependent upon nature for its sustenance.
While I recognize the potential in the grass for improvement, I do nothing about it. I give up on it and elect to spend my time and energy on other things--after all, it is just grass. But people are different. There is no giving up on people and there is no excuse for giving up on people. Of course there are times when we have to let people go their own way and make their own decisions, but there are other times when direct action is required. Such is the case with Joel, our autistic son.
When Joel was a child, he was late at sitting up, walking, toilet training, talking, and virtually everything else that our oldest son did "right on time." As an autistic child, his potential is somewhat limited. His older brother and younger brother each have a room full of sports trophies, certificates, medals, and awards for various things from music participation to sports events to academic achievements. Joel's room, however, is devoid of these kinds of excesses. While he does have a few trophies for spelling and attendance, they are few and far between.
What Joel does excel in is making other peole smile and providing joy in their lives. His potential may not include playing football or saving lives as a doctor or developing a new invention or entertaining thousands but how many of us can actually claim to transform a room with openness and instant acceptance? While most of us remain busy accomplishing and meeting our goals and trying to make a difference in the world in some dynamic and real way, it is Joel who does the most by virtue of his gifts.
When asked who is his best friend, he always answers "everyone." He loves everyone and those who take the time to know him, love him back.
We will never give up on Joel. We will always see his potential and help him reach as high as he can. While his "highest" may not be the same definition as other people's definition, in many ways, Joel's accomplishments may in fact be the greater than most. We continue to provide a loving, warm, firm, disciplined, but compassionate environment for Joel, and mostly, to see the potential for Joel and in Joel. While autism itself is incurable, it is educable. Nurturing, guiding, and helping are for Joel the water that helps him grow.
Although the difficult times (and there are many of those) give us a moment's pause, we continue to move forward with the "water" without regard of the time, energy, and expense. I often remind my boys not to be more trouble than they are worth. The truth is they and all children are always worth the trouble!
I finish my sitting on the front porch and I see the potential in Joel and I remind myself that our heavenly father does not give up on us and always sees our potential. I, in turn, will not give up on Joel. I will always see his worth. Though the grass may wither without care, our son Joel will thrive as his family and friends continue to pour love upon him.
While I recognize the potential in the grass for improvement, I do nothing about it. I give up on it and elect to spend my time and energy on other things--after all, it is just grass. But people are different. There is no giving up on people and there is no excuse for giving up on people. Of course there are times when we have to let people go their own way and make their own decisions, but there are other times when direct action is required. Such is the case with Joel, our autistic son.
When Joel was a child, he was late at sitting up, walking, toilet training, talking, and virtually everything else that our oldest son did "right on time." As an autistic child, his potential is somewhat limited. His older brother and younger brother each have a room full of sports trophies, certificates, medals, and awards for various things from music participation to sports events to academic achievements. Joel's room, however, is devoid of these kinds of excesses. While he does have a few trophies for spelling and attendance, they are few and far between.
What Joel does excel in is making other peole smile and providing joy in their lives. His potential may not include playing football or saving lives as a doctor or developing a new invention or entertaining thousands but how many of us can actually claim to transform a room with openness and instant acceptance? While most of us remain busy accomplishing and meeting our goals and trying to make a difference in the world in some dynamic and real way, it is Joel who does the most by virtue of his gifts.
When asked who is his best friend, he always answers "everyone." He loves everyone and those who take the time to know him, love him back.
We will never give up on Joel. We will always see his potential and help him reach as high as he can. While his "highest" may not be the same definition as other people's definition, in many ways, Joel's accomplishments may in fact be the greater than most. We continue to provide a loving, warm, firm, disciplined, but compassionate environment for Joel, and mostly, to see the potential for Joel and in Joel. While autism itself is incurable, it is educable. Nurturing, guiding, and helping are for Joel the water that helps him grow.
Although the difficult times (and there are many of those) give us a moment's pause, we continue to move forward with the "water" without regard of the time, energy, and expense. I often remind my boys not to be more trouble than they are worth. The truth is they and all children are always worth the trouble!
I finish my sitting on the front porch and I see the potential in Joel and I remind myself that our heavenly father does not give up on us and always sees our potential. I, in turn, will not give up on Joel. I will always see his worth. Though the grass may wither without care, our son Joel will thrive as his family and friends continue to pour love upon him.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The Tree
I woke up from a restless night and had a headache, a body ache, and a sluggish, lugubrious feeling inside and out. I did my morning prayers, exercises, and got ready for the day but all without any kind of energy or goal application. I went through the motions waiting for that obstacle or wall that would hinder any kind of progress toward completion or enjoyment of a task. As I slowly climbed the tower of the day and thought about how the tower was tall, difficult, painful, and not worth the effort, I was both anticipating and dreading the moment when someone or something would grab me and toss me down to the ground, forcing me downward into an emotional and mental abyss. I did not want to see anyone.
I continued my trek, my climb, my slow but deliberate journey and finally entered the garage to start the truck and pull out of the driveway and head to work. My head continued to pound and my body was not responding well to anything. All reactions were slow and somehow angry. As though an aging and ill sloth had invaded my person and infused me with irritation and darkness. I felt violated by my own being and unwanted even to myself. As I started the truck, engaged the reverse gear, I wanted to start the day over with a new spirit and a new look, but I knew that was silly and I knew I was relegated to what I expected and resigned to what was ordained for the day.
I glanced in the rearview mirror as usual and pulled out of the garage and hit a tree. During the night a large worm-infested mulberry tree had grown in the middle of the driveway. I hit it hard and the impact added to my pounding brain and my developing anger. In the deep recesses of my subconscious, however, I had expected it. It was there, I knew it would be there, and it happened. The obstacle to success, the wall to progress, the hedge of hell had landed in my path and I was stopped. I got out of my truck to go to war with the tree, to make it pay, to seek revenge on its evil. But as I angrily walked to the rear to see the damage and inflict equal or greater damage upon the tree, it grabbed me.
Its long branches and web-encrusted leaves reached out and rather roughly began to shake me and lift me off the concrete and into its own forest of worms, spiders, bark, twigs, and human qualities that I pretended didn’t exist. I did not want to acknowledge the twisted eyeballs I was seeing or the sharp teeth that expanded as I neared the core of the tree.
I felt my insides coming apart as the shaking intensified and my fear of the tree was mixed with extreme anger and debilitating powerlessness. I was unable to move on my own, unable to make any worthwhile decisions, and unable to think straight as I moved toward my own destiny that the tree had dictated for me. The tree with its web worms crawling all over me began to ingest me into its disgusting world of decay, sickness, and corruption. The world I knew was disappearing and no amount of anger and fight made a difference. As all things good collapsed and my life disintegrated, I woke up from the nightmare.
As I calmed down, splashed water on my face, and began to get ready for the day, I realized I had been given a second chance to start the day better. I started again (which was really the first time), prayed, exercised, got dressed, headed for the car and anticipated the positive. My head did not pound, I saw the sunshine, I began to set my goals for the day, I moved with a spring in my step, I looked forward to seeing people, and I started the truck and pulled out of the garage. I looked carefully to make sure there were no obstacles and seeing none I drove to work. I did not hit a tree.
It has been a challenging day but nothing I cannot handle! The obstacles are minor, the rewards immense. No trees in my pathway and many great people to see.
I continued my trek, my climb, my slow but deliberate journey and finally entered the garage to start the truck and pull out of the driveway and head to work. My head continued to pound and my body was not responding well to anything. All reactions were slow and somehow angry. As though an aging and ill sloth had invaded my person and infused me with irritation and darkness. I felt violated by my own being and unwanted even to myself. As I started the truck, engaged the reverse gear, I wanted to start the day over with a new spirit and a new look, but I knew that was silly and I knew I was relegated to what I expected and resigned to what was ordained for the day.
I glanced in the rearview mirror as usual and pulled out of the garage and hit a tree. During the night a large worm-infested mulberry tree had grown in the middle of the driveway. I hit it hard and the impact added to my pounding brain and my developing anger. In the deep recesses of my subconscious, however, I had expected it. It was there, I knew it would be there, and it happened. The obstacle to success, the wall to progress, the hedge of hell had landed in my path and I was stopped. I got out of my truck to go to war with the tree, to make it pay, to seek revenge on its evil. But as I angrily walked to the rear to see the damage and inflict equal or greater damage upon the tree, it grabbed me.
Its long branches and web-encrusted leaves reached out and rather roughly began to shake me and lift me off the concrete and into its own forest of worms, spiders, bark, twigs, and human qualities that I pretended didn’t exist. I did not want to acknowledge the twisted eyeballs I was seeing or the sharp teeth that expanded as I neared the core of the tree.
I felt my insides coming apart as the shaking intensified and my fear of the tree was mixed with extreme anger and debilitating powerlessness. I was unable to move on my own, unable to make any worthwhile decisions, and unable to think straight as I moved toward my own destiny that the tree had dictated for me. The tree with its web worms crawling all over me began to ingest me into its disgusting world of decay, sickness, and corruption. The world I knew was disappearing and no amount of anger and fight made a difference. As all things good collapsed and my life disintegrated, I woke up from the nightmare.
As I calmed down, splashed water on my face, and began to get ready for the day, I realized I had been given a second chance to start the day better. I started again (which was really the first time), prayed, exercised, got dressed, headed for the car and anticipated the positive. My head did not pound, I saw the sunshine, I began to set my goals for the day, I moved with a spring in my step, I looked forward to seeing people, and I started the truck and pulled out of the garage. I looked carefully to make sure there were no obstacles and seeing none I drove to work. I did not hit a tree.
It has been a challenging day but nothing I cannot handle! The obstacles are minor, the rewards immense. No trees in my pathway and many great people to see.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Andy G.
Tonight I sit in my living room enjoying watching yet another rerun of Andy Griffith. My wife and I have seen this same episode several dozen times yet we watch it with the same glee we did many years ago. While she tends to anticipate it more than I do, I must admit that I do relish in the oddly anachronistic moments that Andy Griffith provides.
Although overly antiseptic and culturally shallow with an overt avoidance of reality, the Andy Griffith show meets the need in all of us for a world without societal pressures and a world without complexities. A slower paced lifestyle where smiles are abundant and relationships are wholesome. A world without cell phones, email, computers, and blogging! The Andy world demonstrates the idea of events that result in lessons and values and sentimentalism and personal growth.
In contrast to this, I also watched a show called Friends where rampant discussion of body parts, adultery, homosexuality, and alcoholism were not only frequent but also venerated. A show about relationships yes, but all with unhealthy and seemingly fleeting futures.
But I find myself laughing to an extent to some funny lines and zany humor from both shows. Somehow, though, after watching Andy, I don't feel like washing my hands or clearing out my brain like I do after watching Friends. Watching Andy is like playing with a kitten or a puppy or eating popcorn or listening to a Mozart concerto. The show is balanced, enjoyable, relaxing, and predictable. Whereas, Friends feels more like a pit bull dog or a feral cat or a heavy poorly cooked meal or a Stravinsky Ballet. It is uneven, fun at moments but suspicious at others, intense, and unpredictable.
In our modern and eclectic culture, is there a place for both? Certainly! I am so glad for the opportunity and the rights to experience both kinds of shows. But if I had to make a choice, the choice would be Andy every time!
Although overly antiseptic and culturally shallow with an overt avoidance of reality, the Andy Griffith show meets the need in all of us for a world without societal pressures and a world without complexities. A slower paced lifestyle where smiles are abundant and relationships are wholesome. A world without cell phones, email, computers, and blogging! The Andy world demonstrates the idea of events that result in lessons and values and sentimentalism and personal growth.
In contrast to this, I also watched a show called Friends where rampant discussion of body parts, adultery, homosexuality, and alcoholism were not only frequent but also venerated. A show about relationships yes, but all with unhealthy and seemingly fleeting futures.
But I find myself laughing to an extent to some funny lines and zany humor from both shows. Somehow, though, after watching Andy, I don't feel like washing my hands or clearing out my brain like I do after watching Friends. Watching Andy is like playing with a kitten or a puppy or eating popcorn or listening to a Mozart concerto. The show is balanced, enjoyable, relaxing, and predictable. Whereas, Friends feels more like a pit bull dog or a feral cat or a heavy poorly cooked meal or a Stravinsky Ballet. It is uneven, fun at moments but suspicious at others, intense, and unpredictable.
In our modern and eclectic culture, is there a place for both? Certainly! I am so glad for the opportunity and the rights to experience both kinds of shows. But if I had to make a choice, the choice would be Andy every time!
Monday, August 07, 2006
Wagner
While I don't mean to limit my audience base, I feel like a few moments of Wagner is warranted. I took a moment this afternoon to listen to Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde. This incredible piece of music that concludes Wagner's marvelous opera is indeed transcending in sound as well as subject matter for Isolde passes at the end to be with her lover Tristan. She was not ill, wounded, or in poor health at all. She was not grieving in the typical sense and she was not in any kind of desperate emotional condition necessarily. She simply desired to be with her Tristan in death since life did not allow her to be with him. Her feelings and connection to Tristan were so captivating and engrossing that she could not live any longer in the present condition of life. Furthermore, her need to be at one with Tristan resulted in a dramatic, psychological transformation of the physical condition in an effort to join with Tristan and to become one with him in death rather than in life.
It is both the greatest and worst example of love at its finest and at its most terrible. But this essay is not about the love of Tristan and Isolde but rather about the amazing sense of harmonic and melodic balance through tension and rhythm that Wagner achieves.
I came to my love of the music of Wagner rather late as a musician. My college theory teacher did not like Wagner so without any kind of evaluation, I adopted the same philosophy. Yet over the years as a professional musician, I found myself becoming curious about the music of Wagner and finally entered the "Wagner" world and became entranced by its magic.
Harmonic rhythm is used to describe how often harmony in a piece of music changes. In the case of Wagner, his music has an incredibly fast harmonic rhythm during the development stage but very slow harmonic rhythm near the end of the piece. His music also contains mathematical proportions without sacrificing any expressive and emotional qualities. Liebestod has all the elements of great music from harmonic and melodic anticipations to dramatic buildup to one of the grandest most exciting musical climaxes in the repertoire. It makes the music completely mesmerizing and intoxicating.
Liebestod was originally an instrumental work only with the transcendence occurring at the end without text. But Wagner added a soprano obligato part that gives the music a textual significance in addition to its profound musical substance. All in all, the entire opera is one of the greatest of his works and certainly has a musical and psychological depth rarely found in the opera world. However, it is rather long and involved. If you simply want to experience a portion of the entire work, the beginning titled Prelude and the ending called Liebestod, stand alone as some of the most beautiful music in all of Wagner.
It is both the greatest and worst example of love at its finest and at its most terrible. But this essay is not about the love of Tristan and Isolde but rather about the amazing sense of harmonic and melodic balance through tension and rhythm that Wagner achieves.
I came to my love of the music of Wagner rather late as a musician. My college theory teacher did not like Wagner so without any kind of evaluation, I adopted the same philosophy. Yet over the years as a professional musician, I found myself becoming curious about the music of Wagner and finally entered the "Wagner" world and became entranced by its magic.
Harmonic rhythm is used to describe how often harmony in a piece of music changes. In the case of Wagner, his music has an incredibly fast harmonic rhythm during the development stage but very slow harmonic rhythm near the end of the piece. His music also contains mathematical proportions without sacrificing any expressive and emotional qualities. Liebestod has all the elements of great music from harmonic and melodic anticipations to dramatic buildup to one of the grandest most exciting musical climaxes in the repertoire. It makes the music completely mesmerizing and intoxicating.
Liebestod was originally an instrumental work only with the transcendence occurring at the end without text. But Wagner added a soprano obligato part that gives the music a textual significance in addition to its profound musical substance. All in all, the entire opera is one of the greatest of his works and certainly has a musical and psychological depth rarely found in the opera world. However, it is rather long and involved. If you simply want to experience a portion of the entire work, the beginning titled Prelude and the ending called Liebestod, stand alone as some of the most beautiful music in all of Wagner.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Where’s Joel?
Where's Joel? This is the 3 minute question. When Joel first began to walk, and up until recently as well as some today, we began to ask “Where’s Joel?" every 3 minutes. But even with the 3 minute check, we lost him a few times. One of the first times occurred right after he had turned three years old. My wife was in the kitchen and I was in the bedroom and Joel was in his room. Or was he? I heard the proverbial “Where’s Joel?” and answered, “In his room!” A few minutes later she asked again followed by a “Are you sure?” “Yes” I said but with a question in my tone. I quickly walked to his room and realized he was gone. We covered the house in a short time but could not find anywhere. While the back door was locked, the front door was open so we tore out the front door and she went left and I went right. Several houses down the street I found some of my wife’s shoes on the sidewalk. I ran quicker and saw an older teenager holding Joel, assuming the worst I ran breathlessly to the boy who had a big smile on his face and was bringing Joel back. He told us he had seen Joel cross the street and recognized him as ours. Once again, the angels surrounding Joel had to work overtime, but they did their job.
Once we got over the incident and I promised I would actually check on Joel rather than assume he was still where he was three minutes earlier, we found ourselves laughing as we imagined him in his underclothes walking down the street in ladies shoes.
The “Where’s Joel” practice did not help one Saturday when we went to Six Flags in Arlington. As we exited a ride, Joel twisted out of my grasp, got separated from us, and took off running the in the wrong direction we were going. Within a few seconds, he was lost in the crowd of thousands and completely out of our sight. We took off running in his direction but could not seem to get through the crowd, plus we had two other boys to keep close to us. I told my wife to watch the boys and I would get Joel. As I yelled “excuse me” and looked frantically for Joel, I heard above the crowd, “We have Joel, don’t worry.” As I got closer to the voice, I saw some acquaintances from church who happened to be at Six Flags that same day. They had recognized Joel and grabbed him for us.
Angels take on many shapes and sizes from friends to acquaintances and neighbors. While not everyone out there is good, the good ones are in abundance and make the world a better place. To those people and countless others I say thank you.
Once we got over the incident and I promised I would actually check on Joel rather than assume he was still where he was three minutes earlier, we found ourselves laughing as we imagined him in his underclothes walking down the street in ladies shoes.
The “Where’s Joel” practice did not help one Saturday when we went to Six Flags in Arlington. As we exited a ride, Joel twisted out of my grasp, got separated from us, and took off running the in the wrong direction we were going. Within a few seconds, he was lost in the crowd of thousands and completely out of our sight. We took off running in his direction but could not seem to get through the crowd, plus we had two other boys to keep close to us. I told my wife to watch the boys and I would get Joel. As I yelled “excuse me” and looked frantically for Joel, I heard above the crowd, “We have Joel, don’t worry.” As I got closer to the voice, I saw some acquaintances from church who happened to be at Six Flags that same day. They had recognized Joel and grabbed him for us.
Angels take on many shapes and sizes from friends to acquaintances and neighbors. While not everyone out there is good, the good ones are in abundance and make the world a better place. To those people and countless others I say thank you.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Confusion.
It is a problem. It is a solution. Confusion may be a term synonymous with cacophony or chaos, but in reality is a concept for creativity. I have a love/hate relationship with confusion. The science world has grown and developed through the initial confusion that faces all scientists. If the answer is obvious or has already been established, then there are no questions. It is the questions that create the need and the need creates the research and the research seeks to solve the problem and the answer provides the solution thus concluding the question. Confusion leads to solution. K.C. Cole says “In science, feeling confused is essential to progress. An unwillingness to feel lost, in fact, can stop creativity dead in its tracks. A mathematician once told me he thought this was the reason young mathematicians make the big discoveries.”
I thrive on confusion for it causes me to seek the answers—it leads to results and solution of the problem for it is the journey to the answer where growth occurs. Confusion provides the impetus for the learning and although learning is unending, it does have many levels of answers. Of course answers often lead to more questions but that is a topic for Emmanuel Kant, not me!
In a study or analysis of a Brahms symphony (as an aside, I would urge you to pick one of the four Brahms symphonies, and bathe in its musical beauty), it is discovered that Brahms kept a tight rein on his thematic material within each movement and did not venture out of the established language for the movement. Yet as that discovery is made, more mysteries abound. Such as how and why he altered his rhythm, his transitions, and his harmony. The more we learn, the less we know. This is true for much of the world.
So I embrace confusion at the same time I seek to eradicate it. The more it disappears, the more it shows up. Do we fear confusion? Has this caused a contentment and acceptance of all we see and do? The pursuit of happiness is our right and finding happiness is a worthwhile goal—no doubt about that. But happiness is in the heart and not antithetical to confusion. Since confusion leads to knowledge and knowledge leads to happiness, happiness and confusion must be closely linked. Love itself is a confusing emotion, but certainly a happy one. Raising children is confusing but also is joyful.
Many things, perhaps all things are confusing and can be frightening. But fear is a temporary emotion and can be and should be a learning experience. Fear like love causes physiological change which in turn results in confusion, adrenalin, joy, and action. The action is the attempt to find an answer and the answer is born out of a problem while the problem is presented from the confusion.
So as the scientist loves confusion, so must we. For to love confusion is to learn and learning is something we all must do as we pursue happiness. Today I smile at my confusion and hope to grow from it. Tomorrow I may hate confusion but I know that it makes me a better person. Love it, hate it, embrace it or reject it, but grow from it for it is here to stay.
I thrive on confusion for it causes me to seek the answers—it leads to results and solution of the problem for it is the journey to the answer where growth occurs. Confusion provides the impetus for the learning and although learning is unending, it does have many levels of answers. Of course answers often lead to more questions but that is a topic for Emmanuel Kant, not me!
In a study or analysis of a Brahms symphony (as an aside, I would urge you to pick one of the four Brahms symphonies, and bathe in its musical beauty), it is discovered that Brahms kept a tight rein on his thematic material within each movement and did not venture out of the established language for the movement. Yet as that discovery is made, more mysteries abound. Such as how and why he altered his rhythm, his transitions, and his harmony. The more we learn, the less we know. This is true for much of the world.
So I embrace confusion at the same time I seek to eradicate it. The more it disappears, the more it shows up. Do we fear confusion? Has this caused a contentment and acceptance of all we see and do? The pursuit of happiness is our right and finding happiness is a worthwhile goal—no doubt about that. But happiness is in the heart and not antithetical to confusion. Since confusion leads to knowledge and knowledge leads to happiness, happiness and confusion must be closely linked. Love itself is a confusing emotion, but certainly a happy one. Raising children is confusing but also is joyful.
Many things, perhaps all things are confusing and can be frightening. But fear is a temporary emotion and can be and should be a learning experience. Fear like love causes physiological change which in turn results in confusion, adrenalin, joy, and action. The action is the attempt to find an answer and the answer is born out of a problem while the problem is presented from the confusion.
So as the scientist loves confusion, so must we. For to love confusion is to learn and learning is something we all must do as we pursue happiness. Today I smile at my confusion and hope to grow from it. Tomorrow I may hate confusion but I know that it makes me a better person. Love it, hate it, embrace it or reject it, but grow from it for it is here to stay.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Ouch!
I have been accident prone all my life due to some clumsiness, acting hastily, and not thinking ahead. One of the most creative accidents in my life occurred during a baseball game in high school.
My friend and I were almost late to the game due to having an after school band rehearsal. As a horn player, I sometimes would keep a bottle of valve oil in my back pocket that I used to oil my horn. Back then the bottles were made out of glass. Most brass players I know keep a bottle of valve oil handy.
Gary and I made it to the game and I assumed my post at 3rd base. During the 3rd inning, the ball was hit into the outfield and the runner attempted to make it to 3rd base. The ball arrived well before the runner and I was gleefully anticipating making the tag for the out. I assumed he would go into a slide but he changed his mind and decided to play linebacker, hoping I would not be able to hold on to the ball.
I held onto the ball for the out but ended up on my backside looking proud of myself but feeling in pain. As I stood and dusted myself off, I realized my hand was wet and somewhat oily. It took a few more minutes before I remembered the bottle of valve oil. I limped back to the dugout, attempted to sit on the bench and found myself in greater pain than before. By this time, my dad, seeing the grimace on my face came over. I reached in my back pocket and brought out some glass to show him.
We rushed to the hospital where I was placed prone on a table, my clothes removed, and the glass slowly picked out of the wound. By the time all the glass was out, the pain had become severe. A odd looking syringe was then applied for an irrigation technique to rid the open area of any oil. The oil content prevented stitches due to the possible infection. After several hours of glass removal and cleaning, I was sent home to enjoy lying on my stomach or standing up. Sitting down was not an option!
On the way out of the hospital, the nurse who had already made several jokes about the incident, whispered something in my ear which I did not understand at the time but do understand it now. She said, "Don't forget--PYA!"
Unfortunately, it still hurts a little every now and then, but you will never find another bottle of valve oil in my back pocket again. I generally subscribe to the school of hard knocks which in my case is the school of glass in pocks!
My friend and I were almost late to the game due to having an after school band rehearsal. As a horn player, I sometimes would keep a bottle of valve oil in my back pocket that I used to oil my horn. Back then the bottles were made out of glass. Most brass players I know keep a bottle of valve oil handy.
Gary and I made it to the game and I assumed my post at 3rd base. During the 3rd inning, the ball was hit into the outfield and the runner attempted to make it to 3rd base. The ball arrived well before the runner and I was gleefully anticipating making the tag for the out. I assumed he would go into a slide but he changed his mind and decided to play linebacker, hoping I would not be able to hold on to the ball.
I held onto the ball for the out but ended up on my backside looking proud of myself but feeling in pain. As I stood and dusted myself off, I realized my hand was wet and somewhat oily. It took a few more minutes before I remembered the bottle of valve oil. I limped back to the dugout, attempted to sit on the bench and found myself in greater pain than before. By this time, my dad, seeing the grimace on my face came over. I reached in my back pocket and brought out some glass to show him.
We rushed to the hospital where I was placed prone on a table, my clothes removed, and the glass slowly picked out of the wound. By the time all the glass was out, the pain had become severe. A odd looking syringe was then applied for an irrigation technique to rid the open area of any oil. The oil content prevented stitches due to the possible infection. After several hours of glass removal and cleaning, I was sent home to enjoy lying on my stomach or standing up. Sitting down was not an option!
On the way out of the hospital, the nurse who had already made several jokes about the incident, whispered something in my ear which I did not understand at the time but do understand it now. She said, "Don't forget--PYA!"
Unfortunately, it still hurts a little every now and then, but you will never find another bottle of valve oil in my back pocket again. I generally subscribe to the school of hard knocks which in my case is the school of glass in pocks!
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Car wreck
It was a warm Saturday afternoon, and I was in the living room reading and waiting for the dryer to stop while my wife was in the kitchen planning supper. The baby was asleep, Jacob was playing with Legos, and our 4 year old Joel was driving my truck and getting in a wreck. We had seen Joel a few minutes earlier walking through the house. The garage door leading from the laundry room to the garage was open and my wife asked me rather casually where my black truck was parked. I told her it was in the garage where it always was, but she responded with "You must have parked it somewhere else, since it is not there." This was followed by a unison, "Where's Joel?"
At that point, we heard a car horn and both ran from the kitchen through the laundry room, into the garage and outside where we saw the black truck with the emergency lights flashing. It was across the street facing our house with the back bumper smashed against a parked car. There were cars on either side of the truck that had stopped to see the wreck and find out why a truck was perpendicular to the street and blocking traffic.
In the driver's seat and looking very happy was a 4 year old autistic boy named Joel Tucker with his hands on the steering wheel. Apparently he had crawled in the truck, released the parking brake, turned on the emergency lights and rolled backward out of the garage, down the driveway, across the street and ended against a parked car.
After settling down the people who were getting out of their vehicles and convincing one lady that I am not the worst father on the planet and then routing traffic around the truck, I proceeded to promise the owner of the car who came out of his house after hearing the ruckus that we would pay for the repair. Meanwhile, my wife carried Joel back in the house and I returned the truck to the garage and things began to settle down once again.
The car repair was $300 along with several apologies. Also, we began closing the garage door more often. In retrospect, we have wondered several things about that incident. How did Joel pull it off? How did he escape injury? How did he get out of our sight that quickly?
Joel's lack of social awareness and his unique approach to the world in which we live give him his own personal goals that are different from most people's. His is a special world and a beautiful world--a world without danger and without suspicion and without fear. Unfortunately, the real world is a scary place. Yet for all the potential challenges, Joel is a lucky boy! The angels around him work hard but it is always worth it.
At that point, we heard a car horn and both ran from the kitchen through the laundry room, into the garage and outside where we saw the black truck with the emergency lights flashing. It was across the street facing our house with the back bumper smashed against a parked car. There were cars on either side of the truck that had stopped to see the wreck and find out why a truck was perpendicular to the street and blocking traffic.
In the driver's seat and looking very happy was a 4 year old autistic boy named Joel Tucker with his hands on the steering wheel. Apparently he had crawled in the truck, released the parking brake, turned on the emergency lights and rolled backward out of the garage, down the driveway, across the street and ended against a parked car.
After settling down the people who were getting out of their vehicles and convincing one lady that I am not the worst father on the planet and then routing traffic around the truck, I proceeded to promise the owner of the car who came out of his house after hearing the ruckus that we would pay for the repair. Meanwhile, my wife carried Joel back in the house and I returned the truck to the garage and things began to settle down once again.
The car repair was $300 along with several apologies. Also, we began closing the garage door more often. In retrospect, we have wondered several things about that incident. How did Joel pull it off? How did he escape injury? How did he get out of our sight that quickly?
Joel's lack of social awareness and his unique approach to the world in which we live give him his own personal goals that are different from most people's. His is a special world and a beautiful world--a world without danger and without suspicion and without fear. Unfortunately, the real world is a scary place. Yet for all the potential challenges, Joel is a lucky boy! The angels around him work hard but it is always worth it.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Drug Bust
Today the front page of the paper has 23 photos of people who have charges brought against them for drugs. It is one of largest drug busts in several years in Brown County. I noticed a variety of facial expressions in the photos from happy to fear to concern to anger.
What are the causes of drug abuse and the resulting drug trade? This is obviously a question that has plagued modern society and has been extensively studied and exhausted. There are currently over 400 books in print on this subject and a search on the internet revealed over 120 million sites on this topic. School districts across the state are having random drug testing and drug dogs stay busy searching vehicles and lockers in many kinds of institutions.
Law enforcement does a fine job of staying on top of the trade, and lawyers stay busy in litigation, defense, and prosecution. The amount of money spent trying to stop the drug trade is almost beyond comprehension and the time and energy resources allocated to the problem is unfathomable.
But it ultimately comes back to the individual. In my view, people take drugs for many reasons including the desire to escape the reality they are in. While drugs may not be the prima facie evidence of weak character, they may be simply provide the perception of temporary release from current status. If the current situation is such that it requires change or diversion, there are plenty of avenues more healthy than drugs.
Being of addictive personality, I can certainly understand the desire to seek out means of escape. Without self-discipline, I could drink 100 cups of coffee a day and eat several bags of potato chips. Without self-control and speed limit signs, I would enjoy driving 120 miles per hour or watching 10 hours of television. I could also finish a can of cashews in no time and drink gallons of smoothies from Bahama Bucks. Yet, truthfully, we need to stay in control of ourselves, deal with our problems head on, seek help when necessary, and avoid the self-destructive behavior that ruins so many people.
At the same time, treat yourself to some fun and let yourself go occasionally. Seize the day and enjoy it, but enjoy it without the aid of drugs. You will do yourself and others harm. There is nothing to be gained and much to lose.
What are the causes of drug abuse and the resulting drug trade? This is obviously a question that has plagued modern society and has been extensively studied and exhausted. There are currently over 400 books in print on this subject and a search on the internet revealed over 120 million sites on this topic. School districts across the state are having random drug testing and drug dogs stay busy searching vehicles and lockers in many kinds of institutions.
Law enforcement does a fine job of staying on top of the trade, and lawyers stay busy in litigation, defense, and prosecution. The amount of money spent trying to stop the drug trade is almost beyond comprehension and the time and energy resources allocated to the problem is unfathomable.
But it ultimately comes back to the individual. In my view, people take drugs for many reasons including the desire to escape the reality they are in. While drugs may not be the prima facie evidence of weak character, they may be simply provide the perception of temporary release from current status. If the current situation is such that it requires change or diversion, there are plenty of avenues more healthy than drugs.
Being of addictive personality, I can certainly understand the desire to seek out means of escape. Without self-discipline, I could drink 100 cups of coffee a day and eat several bags of potato chips. Without self-control and speed limit signs, I would enjoy driving 120 miles per hour or watching 10 hours of television. I could also finish a can of cashews in no time and drink gallons of smoothies from Bahama Bucks. Yet, truthfully, we need to stay in control of ourselves, deal with our problems head on, seek help when necessary, and avoid the self-destructive behavior that ruins so many people.
At the same time, treat yourself to some fun and let yourself go occasionally. Seize the day and enjoy it, but enjoy it without the aid of drugs. You will do yourself and others harm. There is nothing to be gained and much to lose.
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