Imagine a world where the inherent value of an object has no intrinsic worth, no price tag, and means nothing other than its own merits to an individual. A world where money has no application and becomes useful merely for momentary satisfaction including the sound of coins falling with the result being a soda coming from the machine. A world where the appeal for materials is based primarily on preference without regard of quality, history, potential, supply, or demand. A world without greed for more, or envy for those who have, or conversely without pity for those without, and no acknowledgment of rich or poor, a world of equality, and a world without judgment.
This is the world of Joel Tucker, autistic since birth. He does not understand money. Oh, he understands the price tag on an item and he can add up the dollars and cents, and he knows that it takes money to buy things at the store. He also knows that Mom and Dad discuss money and often seem concerned about it, but in the end, he doesn't know why some things require more than others. An RC cola out of the machine requires 3 quarters that make a fun sound when fed into the machine, whereas a tie at the store needs paper money or Dad's little plastic card in his wallet. On any given day, Joel would like a new suit or a pipe organ in the house or a bag of chips with hot sauce. Purchasing shoes for $5 at a corner sale has the same meaning as a new pair from Macy's. He can accept that we have told him that a pipe organ is not an option for our home but it does not change his desire for one. Yet his wanting one is not a covetous obsession but is rather an idea of a given moment similar to his desire for a cola or new shoes.
The need for more money is a motivating incentive for hard work in our society and indirectly affects supply and demand, which then creates an economic culture that pervades our footsteps and our actions. Without a sense of labor and free trade, we fall into the futuristic and flawed Utopian Brave New World of total equality and peace devoid of the human elements needed for growth and improvement. Ironically those very elements are what lead to both happiness and misery in our world. If our happiness and joy is based upon money which leads to greater acquisition of wealth, then we fall into an extrinsic desire for more. In that marvelous book by Aldous Huxley, those rare moments of dissatisfaction and confusion require a "soma" to reach a drug-induced state of happiness and false euphoria. When joy is derived from material objects, the inevitable result is an emptiness from never having enough.
Supply and demand is a result of the inner need to improve, a drive to succeed, a necessity for affirmation, an intrinsic need for self-actualization, a desperate requirement to be important and to acquire more things. It seems to be human nature to want more toys for Christmas, and we want the best most expensive toys (never mind, that children tend to play with the boxes more than the actual item!). And yet, before falling into a diatribe on society's materialism, it is the inner drive and human spirit that has created cities, technology, and progresses forward to greater heights of creativity. Personal ambition, dedication to labor and self improvement leads directly to an acknowledgment of the value of objects and the ability to make judgments of worth.
To return to Joel's world, a world without knowledge of money and the value of objects can and does result in a lack of ambition for wealth and acquisition. This makes Joel's world rather bland by our standards and oddly confusing. The new Lexus that drives by is simply a vehicle, not to be admired more than an old Chevrolet. With clothes, food, and shelter, and a piano or organ, Joel is happy. He does not seek out ways to improve and is not able to pass judgment on the quality of any given material. He does not experience envy, greed, or drive to be the best. He is comfortable in his skin and does not approach life seeking to place value on the things around him. He simply accepts, unconditionally, that all things are equal and only desires the basic necessities of his world. His is not a world of external values, values artificially placed by human beings as they manipulate the economic system, he values lives around him. Rather than place a monetary value on all he sees, he instead values people and life.
Try taking a day to see the world through the eyes of the egalitarian Joel. All becomes tinted, all becomes equal, and, most importantly, all becomes beautiful.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Faith in the Classroom
Applying faith in an academic setting should be both intentional and natural, as an outgrowth of one's world view and Christian practice. Much has been written about faith and discipline for college teachers but ultimately the question is a philosophical one with pragmatic application, worthy to discuss and worthy to embrace. Should we incorporate and even embed our faith in our teaching to our students? What do we gain with this approach or what do we lose? Can it be done easily or will the process become stilted, prescribed, and contrived. How do we, as college professors, avoid such pitfalls?
In reality we are discussing the integration and melding of two distinctly different but beautiful concepts--knowledge and faith. Of course, the objective is to make the two as one, unified ideals that operate independently and congruently. Let's use music as way to demonstrate the application of this goal.
The word monophony or monody refers to one sound or one musical line, namely the melody. In early music, the idea of singing in harmony with more than one sound was both unknown and even religiously rejected on the grounds that a service should have unity as one of its intentional outcomes. Singing in harmony or in polyphony (many sounds) acknowledges people's differences as they seek to worship the one Lord God Almighty. There are theologians, including Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and churches today that insist on singing in unison with the idea that harmony and musical division does not lend itself to unified worship. Yet, if one subscribes to the idea that music is one of God's greatest gifts, and that human expression through music can be rich and unbounded, and that harmony and polyphony add layers of creative beauty to music, and that God is the author and perfecter of faith, then it stands to reason that the ultimate expression of music is that which achieves the sublime and synthesizes many sounds into one.
So let's return to the idea of applying one's faith to the classroom. There is little doubt that adherence to the needs of the discipline and the requisite knowledge must be imparted consistently and well in order to meet the expected learning outcomes of a particular subject. All teachers are aware of the necessary goals required for claiming expertise in a given topic. If, for example, the history teacher does not present and demand exact historical information, with precision and awareness of both micro and macro history, the subject and the clientèle then are not being treated with the academic respect the integrity of the subject deserves. Since integrity of truth is supreme, teaching then must be the process of imparting accurate and complete information.
But is this really enough, and does it tell the whole story? If this were the complete truth, there would be little need for teachers since most of the world's information, particularly on any one subject, can be found in print among the thousands of publications currently available. A teacher, however, does more than present facts to students who then ingest them and regurgitate them for assessment. In fact, a teacher does more than teach the facts, a teacher inevitably teaches the topic through the lens of himself or herself. A good teacher cannot help but emanate his personality, values, integrity, philosophy, emotions, and life experiences in his commitment to excellence. To ask a teacher to teach objectively, extracting all biases and emotions from the topic, is to ask a teacher to be an automaton devoid of the very essence of what education is all about.
Back to music. Many consider the greatest music to contain melody, harmony, and rhythm (see earlier blog entries for discussions of sound and the meaning of music). A lesson without faith can be likened to monophony, certainly worthy and meaningful, but not multi-dimensioned. The application of faith in a lesson is polyphonic in essence and harmonious in content. One's faith and one's world view comes through naturally and holistically in the classroom regardless of the subject matter. It is not and should not be interjected abruptly, prescriptively, nor contrived in any sense; but rather, is simply a part of who the teacher is both specifically and comprehensively. To take the faith part out is to make the music, the classroom, the institution, and the experience less than its intention and certainly less than its potential.
In reality we are discussing the integration and melding of two distinctly different but beautiful concepts--knowledge and faith. Of course, the objective is to make the two as one, unified ideals that operate independently and congruently. Let's use music as way to demonstrate the application of this goal.
The word monophony or monody refers to one sound or one musical line, namely the melody. In early music, the idea of singing in harmony with more than one sound was both unknown and even religiously rejected on the grounds that a service should have unity as one of its intentional outcomes. Singing in harmony or in polyphony (many sounds) acknowledges people's differences as they seek to worship the one Lord God Almighty. There are theologians, including Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and churches today that insist on singing in unison with the idea that harmony and musical division does not lend itself to unified worship. Yet, if one subscribes to the idea that music is one of God's greatest gifts, and that human expression through music can be rich and unbounded, and that harmony and polyphony add layers of creative beauty to music, and that God is the author and perfecter of faith, then it stands to reason that the ultimate expression of music is that which achieves the sublime and synthesizes many sounds into one.
So let's return to the idea of applying one's faith to the classroom. There is little doubt that adherence to the needs of the discipline and the requisite knowledge must be imparted consistently and well in order to meet the expected learning outcomes of a particular subject. All teachers are aware of the necessary goals required for claiming expertise in a given topic. If, for example, the history teacher does not present and demand exact historical information, with precision and awareness of both micro and macro history, the subject and the clientèle then are not being treated with the academic respect the integrity of the subject deserves. Since integrity of truth is supreme, teaching then must be the process of imparting accurate and complete information.
But is this really enough, and does it tell the whole story? If this were the complete truth, there would be little need for teachers since most of the world's information, particularly on any one subject, can be found in print among the thousands of publications currently available. A teacher, however, does more than present facts to students who then ingest them and regurgitate them for assessment. In fact, a teacher does more than teach the facts, a teacher inevitably teaches the topic through the lens of himself or herself. A good teacher cannot help but emanate his personality, values, integrity, philosophy, emotions, and life experiences in his commitment to excellence. To ask a teacher to teach objectively, extracting all biases and emotions from the topic, is to ask a teacher to be an automaton devoid of the very essence of what education is all about.
Back to music. Many consider the greatest music to contain melody, harmony, and rhythm (see earlier blog entries for discussions of sound and the meaning of music). A lesson without faith can be likened to monophony, certainly worthy and meaningful, but not multi-dimensioned. The application of faith in a lesson is polyphonic in essence and harmonious in content. One's faith and one's world view comes through naturally and holistically in the classroom regardless of the subject matter. It is not and should not be interjected abruptly, prescriptively, nor contrived in any sense; but rather, is simply a part of who the teacher is both specifically and comprehensively. To take the faith part out is to make the music, the classroom, the institution, and the experience less than its intention and certainly less than its potential.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
It Wasn't Easy
The development and growth of music notation did not happen accidentally, quickly, nor haphazardly. It was a deliberate but difficult process demonstrating great sacrifice and dedication to the truth. Like many great inventions, music notation became what it is today partly due to the desire of the people to have music in their hand and partly due to the relentless tenacity of one man who found a better way and did not give up in his quest for improvement.
Without the printing press, computers, cell phones, cds, and recorded music, maintaining consistent performance of music was hit or miss at best and entirely dependent on the oral tradition and the teaching of the so-called experts in music. To an extent, music belonged to the people, but was reserved for the elites to understand and to offer their inside knowledge whenever necessary. Like a faucet with an on/off valve, the leaders, generally a branch of the papacy, would govern the knowledge that would be allowed to be released to the people. This practice then gave the authority to those in the know, to the elite group of music readers with the special gifts and abilities to read and understand the secret code called music.
Recall that the educational system was closely tied to the religious orders of the time with the teachers being pulled directly from the Roman-Catholic churches and monasteries. Education, as it has always been, was limited to the resources available, which included physical materials, human ingenuity, and the accepted systems for teaching whatever particular discipline was being taught. While many may disagree, it has been argued that the finest education does indeed occur through direct connection to the church and its teachings. And yet, there is also little doubt that when ideas of an individual are squelched, the result is a deplorable lack of progress. Society and culture grow dramatically from the creative spirit of a person with ideas.
Originally, the system for teaching music was based on church modes, unison melodies, and neumatic notation with the oral tradition having more influence than the written notes. The teachers and musicians were limited to both the prescribed neumatic system and the tradition of music presentation in the church. But limits do not imply a lack of expression, for the music was beautiful, engaging, and spiritual. (http://youtube.com/watch?v=MZ8iRv67lVM&mode=related&search=) The challenge was not in advancing the case for greater complexity, but rather to teach the precise expectation of that which was required in performance. The clergy were restricted by a difficult system that was not easily understood by the common people. Since knowledge is power, the mysteries of music notation gave them a misguided sense of autonomy over the people.
It was the heroism of one man who countered the authorities and sought a way to demystify the notation of music and thus bring music to all the people, making it available to the common man. His name was Guido (995-1050) of Arezzo and he is one of the earliest and most significant music educators in history. Although his treatise, Micrologus (c.1025), is an important an early source for understanding the development of polyphony and ultimately harmony in music, it was his contributions and innovations in the area of music notation that he placed his handprint on the world.
In Guido's efforts to teach students music, he used a remarkably simple but effective tool--his own hand. By pointing to and eventually using a drawing of his own hand, he developed an advanced system of what is referred to as solmization, or the use of Do, Re, Mi to teach the order of pitches in music. For his efforts and remarkable invention, which quickly became a threat to the old ways, Guido was removed from his position at the monastery he resided and opened shop somewhere else. But as it is impossible to stop the tide of truth, and great ideas cannot be kept within the walls, the Guidonian Hand found an excited audience in the people desperate to read music and to have music around them.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guidonian_hand
Guido's invention, which ultimately lead to the five line staff that we use today, gave us tools to understand and to apply one of God's greatest gifts, the gift of music. Guido and his method were eventually, but not without pain, accepted and supported by Pope John which led him to return to his home in Arezzo. For a more detailed expository of his life and contributions please read: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07065a.htm.
While it was not easy, and took sacrifice, tenacity, and commitment, we owe it to Guido d'Arezzo for bringing music to the people and giving all of us an opportunity to experience and enjoy the power of music. Music is indeed a universal language, a language for everyone, and music belongs to the people and mostly in the hands of people. We owe a special thank you to Guido for handing us the system of music we use today.
Without the printing press, computers, cell phones, cds, and recorded music, maintaining consistent performance of music was hit or miss at best and entirely dependent on the oral tradition and the teaching of the so-called experts in music. To an extent, music belonged to the people, but was reserved for the elites to understand and to offer their inside knowledge whenever necessary. Like a faucet with an on/off valve, the leaders, generally a branch of the papacy, would govern the knowledge that would be allowed to be released to the people. This practice then gave the authority to those in the know, to the elite group of music readers with the special gifts and abilities to read and understand the secret code called music.
Recall that the educational system was closely tied to the religious orders of the time with the teachers being pulled directly from the Roman-Catholic churches and monasteries. Education, as it has always been, was limited to the resources available, which included physical materials, human ingenuity, and the accepted systems for teaching whatever particular discipline was being taught. While many may disagree, it has been argued that the finest education does indeed occur through direct connection to the church and its teachings. And yet, there is also little doubt that when ideas of an individual are squelched, the result is a deplorable lack of progress. Society and culture grow dramatically from the creative spirit of a person with ideas.
Originally, the system for teaching music was based on church modes, unison melodies, and neumatic notation with the oral tradition having more influence than the written notes. The teachers and musicians were limited to both the prescribed neumatic system and the tradition of music presentation in the church. But limits do not imply a lack of expression, for the music was beautiful, engaging, and spiritual. (http://youtube.com/watch?v=MZ8iRv67lVM&mode=related&search=) The challenge was not in advancing the case for greater complexity, but rather to teach the precise expectation of that which was required in performance. The clergy were restricted by a difficult system that was not easily understood by the common people. Since knowledge is power, the mysteries of music notation gave them a misguided sense of autonomy over the people.
It was the heroism of one man who countered the authorities and sought a way to demystify the notation of music and thus bring music to all the people, making it available to the common man. His name was Guido (995-1050) of Arezzo and he is one of the earliest and most significant music educators in history. Although his treatise, Micrologus (c.1025), is an important an early source for understanding the development of polyphony and ultimately harmony in music, it was his contributions and innovations in the area of music notation that he placed his handprint on the world.
In Guido's efforts to teach students music, he used a remarkably simple but effective tool--his own hand. By pointing to and eventually using a drawing of his own hand, he developed an advanced system of what is referred to as solmization, or the use of Do, Re, Mi to teach the order of pitches in music. For his efforts and remarkable invention, which quickly became a threat to the old ways, Guido was removed from his position at the monastery he resided and opened shop somewhere else. But as it is impossible to stop the tide of truth, and great ideas cannot be kept within the walls, the Guidonian Hand found an excited audience in the people desperate to read music and to have music around them.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guidonian_hand
Guido's invention, which ultimately lead to the five line staff that we use today, gave us tools to understand and to apply one of God's greatest gifts, the gift of music. Guido and his method were eventually, but not without pain, accepted and supported by Pope John which led him to return to his home in Arezzo. For a more detailed expository of his life and contributions please read: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07065a.htm.
While it was not easy, and took sacrifice, tenacity, and commitment, we owe it to Guido d'Arezzo for bringing music to the people and giving all of us an opportunity to experience and enjoy the power of music. Music is indeed a universal language, a language for everyone, and music belongs to the people and mostly in the hands of people. We owe a special thank you to Guido for handing us the system of music we use today.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Stress Switch
Walking down to the pasture to feed the baby goat, being careful to avoid stepping in the low places, and balancing the flashlight in one hand with a bottle of milk and a cup of orange juice in the other, I began to set my goals for the day and for the rest of week. I thought about the personnel under my charge, the many accounts that needed attention, the projections for growth, the need for academic compliance with accrediting agencies, work responsibilities, facility challenges in various departments, and mostly, all the things I needed to accomplish. These thoughts and more enveloped me and weighed heavily on me as I neared the fence and began to call for baby billy.
He ran to the fence with a sleepy but excited and energetic bound and stuck his head through the fence to get the bottle that I gave him each morning before I headed off to work. Unfortunately, this particular morning, in trying to shine the light on the little goat and get the bottle to him, I accidentally lifted the orange juice to his mouth where he quickly and eagerly grabbed it and swallowed a mouthful. At the same moment, thinking I was drinking my own orange juice, I, instead, took a healthy swig of goat formula and changed into a goat on the wrong side of the fence.
It took me a few minutes to discern the reality of my unusual situation. My brain functioned as a human but my outward appearance and my instincts were that of a goat. I momentarily laughed, cried, and instantly tried to scream for someone to help me, but all I could muster was a mournful baaaa and a grunt. I felt something crash into me and looked around to see another goat butt me hard in anger at the sounds I was making. I quickly moved into battling position, but the goat had moved away in apathy as though I made no difference at all in his life.
I looked around and saw the other goats and felt a desire to be near the others. This was new to me since my former human self sometimes preferred to be alone, particularly first thing in the morning. So I wandered over to the other goats, a group of nannies and one billy that did not acknowledge me at all, and quickly experienced hunger pangs and found myself bending down to find some grass and weeds which strangely were quite tasty but not very filling. As I munched on the delicious grass, I paused occasionally to look around and for the first time in a long time, felt completely devoid of any kind of goals or purpose. It was as though my mind had become a blank slate, but not even a slate, more of an empty space, with little ability to process much of anything other than my most basic of needs, namely food. It was strangely comforting, in the manner of not having to make any decisions can be, such as losing the sense of choice is both relaxing and disconcerting, and yet, the lack of discernment, its fundamental joy notwithstanding, was still more than a little frightening at the same time.
But what of my counterpart, my evil twin, my clone, my own personal thief? What of his whereabouts? Was he frightened also of the new life? Did his fear include driving, talking, meetings, calls, computer? In his new found freedom from the weeds of pasture, was the actually result a bigger pasture with more weeds? Was his freedom actually his straitjacket as he attempted to fit in with the human world? When he arrived in my office and encountered the first difficult question of the day, did he relish in the opportunity to solve the problem or did he beg for the past when his pressing problem was which set of weeds did he want to eat at the moment?
I was not to know, for at the critical moment of my altered state, and as I accidentally drank from the goat milk, and as the switch occurred, time had stopped, giving me a sense of being frozen in psychological space, as though a swirling ocean of violent waves had engulfed me but immediately stopped moving. Just as immediately, my journey into goatdom reverted me back to my human state, and I concluded my moment by feeding the baby goat, headed back to the house, and drove to work. Maybe it had been a dream or a nightmare or a moment in time of escape, but nevertheless the event left me shaken yet oddly refreshed.
Rather than the feeling of stress that sometimes accompanied my path to work, that day as I walked into my office, turned on the computer, and checked the phone messages, I anticipated with great joy some sort of problem to solve. I smiled wryly and unabashedly as I thankfully and silently prayed to God in gratitude for not making me a goat! It was great to be a human. Such was the start of a great and beautiful week.
He ran to the fence with a sleepy but excited and energetic bound and stuck his head through the fence to get the bottle that I gave him each morning before I headed off to work. Unfortunately, this particular morning, in trying to shine the light on the little goat and get the bottle to him, I accidentally lifted the orange juice to his mouth where he quickly and eagerly grabbed it and swallowed a mouthful. At the same moment, thinking I was drinking my own orange juice, I, instead, took a healthy swig of goat formula and changed into a goat on the wrong side of the fence.
It took me a few minutes to discern the reality of my unusual situation. My brain functioned as a human but my outward appearance and my instincts were that of a goat. I momentarily laughed, cried, and instantly tried to scream for someone to help me, but all I could muster was a mournful baaaa and a grunt. I felt something crash into me and looked around to see another goat butt me hard in anger at the sounds I was making. I quickly moved into battling position, but the goat had moved away in apathy as though I made no difference at all in his life.
I looked around and saw the other goats and felt a desire to be near the others. This was new to me since my former human self sometimes preferred to be alone, particularly first thing in the morning. So I wandered over to the other goats, a group of nannies and one billy that did not acknowledge me at all, and quickly experienced hunger pangs and found myself bending down to find some grass and weeds which strangely were quite tasty but not very filling. As I munched on the delicious grass, I paused occasionally to look around and for the first time in a long time, felt completely devoid of any kind of goals or purpose. It was as though my mind had become a blank slate, but not even a slate, more of an empty space, with little ability to process much of anything other than my most basic of needs, namely food. It was strangely comforting, in the manner of not having to make any decisions can be, such as losing the sense of choice is both relaxing and disconcerting, and yet, the lack of discernment, its fundamental joy notwithstanding, was still more than a little frightening at the same time.
But what of my counterpart, my evil twin, my clone, my own personal thief? What of his whereabouts? Was he frightened also of the new life? Did his fear include driving, talking, meetings, calls, computer? In his new found freedom from the weeds of pasture, was the actually result a bigger pasture with more weeds? Was his freedom actually his straitjacket as he attempted to fit in with the human world? When he arrived in my office and encountered the first difficult question of the day, did he relish in the opportunity to solve the problem or did he beg for the past when his pressing problem was which set of weeds did he want to eat at the moment?
I was not to know, for at the critical moment of my altered state, and as I accidentally drank from the goat milk, and as the switch occurred, time had stopped, giving me a sense of being frozen in psychological space, as though a swirling ocean of violent waves had engulfed me but immediately stopped moving. Just as immediately, my journey into goatdom reverted me back to my human state, and I concluded my moment by feeding the baby goat, headed back to the house, and drove to work. Maybe it had been a dream or a nightmare or a moment in time of escape, but nevertheless the event left me shaken yet oddly refreshed.
Rather than the feeling of stress that sometimes accompanied my path to work, that day as I walked into my office, turned on the computer, and checked the phone messages, I anticipated with great joy some sort of problem to solve. I smiled wryly and unabashedly as I thankfully and silently prayed to God in gratitude for not making me a goat! It was great to be a human. Such was the start of a great and beautiful week.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Crayons or Computers
"We want to color" was the statement my wife heard last week during the first week of school as she taught her first grade class. The students relished the opportunity to put a little crayon in their little hands and color the paper set before them. The crayon for children first came into being and was marketed in 1903 with 8 different colors presented. Today there are over 100 types of crayons in use including glow in the dark, glittering, and different smells to accompany the various colors. For more information on the history of crayola crayons, read http://inventors.about.com/library/inventors/blcrayon.htm.
In contrast, the computer as we know it today has been a meteoric development since 1936 with advanced features continuing today and public consumption of the computers continuing to grow at an astounding rate. Unlike the crayon, which aside from the various types and sizes available remains the same since inception, the computer has evolved quickly and dramatically to what we see today with 160 gigabytes of storage space for a personal computer and software for virtually (no pun intended) any interest or activity including coloring. I smile as I remember my first computer with its 20 megabytes of memory!
Today we have computers in every classroom, labs in most hallways, and a staff of computer wizards to help those who are not. Computers have capabilities to create glorious works of art, enhance movies, supplement brochures, add pictures and graphics to letters, signs, posters, and video. The possibilities are only limited by the human spirit and the future holds an infinite amount of computer graphics beauty and art we can only imagine today. With a computer there is no mess, you cannot accidentally leave a computer in your pocket, you cannot break it in half, and it will not melt outside in the sun. If you make a mistake, you simply do not save your work, and it is not on permanent display for all to see around the room.
So why do the little first graders request to color with crayons? In our modern age of electronic gizmos, it does not make sense that children would want to experience something as primitive as a crayon. You cannot plug it in, it does not beep, buzz, play music, show videos, display photographs, show maps, blog, email, or even play solitaire. A crayon can really only do one thing, and that is color in the way you want it to color. While several crayons can produce different colors, the possibilities of colors are somewhat limited and the human hand can only work so fast and so well. Besides, once it is on paper, there is no erasing the work.
Yet for all its lack of refinement and wizardry, the crayon continues to make its dramatic mark upon elementary aged children, both at home and in the classroom. Crayons do not require a server system, a technician, electricity, a keyboard, a mouse, a screen, and are much less expensive than a computer. The opportunity to hold a crayon in hand and work diligently to stay within the lines and choose different colors and bear down or color lightly or freely change the figures on the paper or randomly create your own picture is the opportunity to express yourself and tactilely reproduce what the mind has conceived. It is classic joy to color, to paint the world before you, to use your hands to improve that which is seen, to express your emotions with a crayon, and all without the use of a machine.
"Which is the winner, the crayon or the computer?" I ask myself as I type this blog on my expensive laptop and smile when I hear about the sheer pleasure the 1st graders are receiving when they are allowed to color at the end of day. Computers are here to stay, but, ironically, and antithetically, so are crayons!
In contrast, the computer as we know it today has been a meteoric development since 1936 with advanced features continuing today and public consumption of the computers continuing to grow at an astounding rate. Unlike the crayon, which aside from the various types and sizes available remains the same since inception, the computer has evolved quickly and dramatically to what we see today with 160 gigabytes of storage space for a personal computer and software for virtually (no pun intended) any interest or activity including coloring. I smile as I remember my first computer with its 20 megabytes of memory!
Today we have computers in every classroom, labs in most hallways, and a staff of computer wizards to help those who are not. Computers have capabilities to create glorious works of art, enhance movies, supplement brochures, add pictures and graphics to letters, signs, posters, and video. The possibilities are only limited by the human spirit and the future holds an infinite amount of computer graphics beauty and art we can only imagine today. With a computer there is no mess, you cannot accidentally leave a computer in your pocket, you cannot break it in half, and it will not melt outside in the sun. If you make a mistake, you simply do not save your work, and it is not on permanent display for all to see around the room.
So why do the little first graders request to color with crayons? In our modern age of electronic gizmos, it does not make sense that children would want to experience something as primitive as a crayon. You cannot plug it in, it does not beep, buzz, play music, show videos, display photographs, show maps, blog, email, or even play solitaire. A crayon can really only do one thing, and that is color in the way you want it to color. While several crayons can produce different colors, the possibilities of colors are somewhat limited and the human hand can only work so fast and so well. Besides, once it is on paper, there is no erasing the work.
Yet for all its lack of refinement and wizardry, the crayon continues to make its dramatic mark upon elementary aged children, both at home and in the classroom. Crayons do not require a server system, a technician, electricity, a keyboard, a mouse, a screen, and are much less expensive than a computer. The opportunity to hold a crayon in hand and work diligently to stay within the lines and choose different colors and bear down or color lightly or freely change the figures on the paper or randomly create your own picture is the opportunity to express yourself and tactilely reproduce what the mind has conceived. It is classic joy to color, to paint the world before you, to use your hands to improve that which is seen, to express your emotions with a crayon, and all without the use of a machine.
"Which is the winner, the crayon or the computer?" I ask myself as I type this blog on my expensive laptop and smile when I hear about the sheer pleasure the 1st graders are receiving when they are allowed to color at the end of day. Computers are here to stay, but, ironically, and antithetically, so are crayons!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Future for the Disabled
I recall with ironic and embarrassed amusement the reactions of many people when handicapped parking places became the norm, ramps for wheelchairs were being built, and restrooms contained special stalls to accommodate the physically challenged. Some felt we were catering to the needs of a small minority and rebuilding society to accommodate the very few with disabilities. The move toward a lesser restrictive environment grew rapidly in the early 1970s with the US Rehabilitation Act of 1973 that helped fund accessibility requirements, and the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) that increased awareness and physical requirements, and prevented job discrimination based on disabilities. ADA has also contributed to building code accessibility by insisting on entrance ramps, wider doors, seating capacity, restroom needs, water fountains, and required elevators. In addition, we have all experienced the abundance of handicapped parking spaces (and perhaps emotion at those undeserving people who seem to take advantage of those spaces), intended to help disabled people have easier access to various facilities.
In some ways this has all been a drain on taxpayers, business owners, architects, and institutions. One could always attempt the old argument that the free market ought to determine the accommodations and needs of those who are disabled. Just as we tend to frequent the restaurant where we enjoy the food, price, and environment, so should a person with a disability frequent the places that provide the great accessibility for their needs, and that those businesses that recognize those needs, build accordingly, with the result being increased profit margins. But in fact, is that true?
Without legislation, would there exist handicap parking spaces or wider doors, or bathroom stalls with bars or elevators in every building? I seriously doubt it. The market, correctly, caters to the needs of the majority and is governed primarily through the resulting demands of the people by a process known as supply and demand. When there is a demand for particular goods, there is a supply developed to meet that demand, with an abundance of supply lowering the cost of the goods, and a limited supply causing greater demand and higher costs. But the question is: would the people demand accommodations for those with disabilities and only frequent those establishments providing easy access? Maybe, but it is questionable, especially considering the small number of people with this serviceable requirement.
So the government finds itself infringing on culture and society by seeking to legislate accessibility and services for those with disabilities. While it does not seem fair or right to force businesses and owners to provide easy access, and the cost can be astronomical, in the end, it gives people with disabilities freedom and rights to shop, work, and live in society that would otherwise be unavailable to them. This is an unusual and perhaps rare example of government intervention that demonstrates care, compassion, and positive results for those disabled people.
But what does the future hold for those with mental disabilities, those whose inherent aptitude is limited, those without the ability to hold down a steady job, those who cannot drive, or perhaps have trouble balancing a checkbook, or even difficulty communicating? Do we treat them as pariahs, blights on society, hopeless losers? In the not so far past, we would relegate them to prisons where many of them might get worse and never know a free environment. Maybe we should quickly send them to institutions so as to avoid thinking about them. Or do we instead, as a civilized society attempt to rise above the barbarisms of the past, provide options for them and find ways and means to integrate them into society whenever possible? In other words, can we provide the least restrictive environment possible? Is there a place in our world for someone with a mental disability?
As we slowly but surely become a more civilized world, we may find ourselves in a difficult, but morally responsible position to provide accommodations for the mentally handicapped as well as the physically handicapped. Obviously, every person is different and some require greater care than others, and it could be a long haul requiring many years of contention, questions, and doubt, but I believe we will one day embrace all disabilities as deserving of their rightful place among the citizenship of our world. Meanwhile, it becomes our responsibility and obligation for families to find ways to help their own, and to continue to refine civilization to include those with disabilities. We have come a long way in this regard, and I anticipate future growth in awareness and accommodations.
In some ways this has all been a drain on taxpayers, business owners, architects, and institutions. One could always attempt the old argument that the free market ought to determine the accommodations and needs of those who are disabled. Just as we tend to frequent the restaurant where we enjoy the food, price, and environment, so should a person with a disability frequent the places that provide the great accessibility for their needs, and that those businesses that recognize those needs, build accordingly, with the result being increased profit margins. But in fact, is that true?
Without legislation, would there exist handicap parking spaces or wider doors, or bathroom stalls with bars or elevators in every building? I seriously doubt it. The market, correctly, caters to the needs of the majority and is governed primarily through the resulting demands of the people by a process known as supply and demand. When there is a demand for particular goods, there is a supply developed to meet that demand, with an abundance of supply lowering the cost of the goods, and a limited supply causing greater demand and higher costs. But the question is: would the people demand accommodations for those with disabilities and only frequent those establishments providing easy access? Maybe, but it is questionable, especially considering the small number of people with this serviceable requirement.
So the government finds itself infringing on culture and society by seeking to legislate accessibility and services for those with disabilities. While it does not seem fair or right to force businesses and owners to provide easy access, and the cost can be astronomical, in the end, it gives people with disabilities freedom and rights to shop, work, and live in society that would otherwise be unavailable to them. This is an unusual and perhaps rare example of government intervention that demonstrates care, compassion, and positive results for those disabled people.
But what does the future hold for those with mental disabilities, those whose inherent aptitude is limited, those without the ability to hold down a steady job, those who cannot drive, or perhaps have trouble balancing a checkbook, or even difficulty communicating? Do we treat them as pariahs, blights on society, hopeless losers? In the not so far past, we would relegate them to prisons where many of them might get worse and never know a free environment. Maybe we should quickly send them to institutions so as to avoid thinking about them. Or do we instead, as a civilized society attempt to rise above the barbarisms of the past, provide options for them and find ways and means to integrate them into society whenever possible? In other words, can we provide the least restrictive environment possible? Is there a place in our world for someone with a mental disability?
As we slowly but surely become a more civilized world, we may find ourselves in a difficult, but morally responsible position to provide accommodations for the mentally handicapped as well as the physically handicapped. Obviously, every person is different and some require greater care than others, and it could be a long haul requiring many years of contention, questions, and doubt, but I believe we will one day embrace all disabilities as deserving of their rightful place among the citizenship of our world. Meanwhile, it becomes our responsibility and obligation for families to find ways to help their own, and to continue to refine civilization to include those with disabilities. We have come a long way in this regard, and I anticipate future growth in awareness and accommodations.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Special Education: After School, What?
With our middle son, autistic since birth, nearing the age of 18, but still needing 2 more years of school before completing his high school diploma, it occurs to me to ask what happens to him and countless others who have been guided, taught, and educationally nurtured throughout most of their lives. What do they do? Who helps them and are we prepared as a society for an influx of adult-aged special learners?
I read with interest, a little shock, and emotional disparity an article about the American playwright, Arthur Miller, known for Death of a Salesman, and The Crucible, and his Down Syndrome son, Daniel. (http://www.vanityfair.com/fame/features/2007/09/miller200709?printable=true¤tPage=all)
It is a dramatic story of a public figure (Arthur Miller was once married to Marilyn Monroe) who rejected his son, sent him to an institution where he was mistreated, shuffled around, and finally adopted by a family he calls his own, never checked on him, and only near the end of the playwright's life, sought an opportunity to meet him. Ironically, in Miller's will, he made Daniel a rightful heir to his sizable fortune. It is also a historical, cultural study of the 60s, when parents did not know what should be done or could be done for their children with special problems. A prominent, well-known intellect, immensely respected for two long-running plays, in a moment of fear, or maybe anger, or lack of compassion, or maybe even misguided wisdom, sent his son to what he perhaps thought would be a better life for himself and the infant, who was projected to have a shortened lifespan. Perhaps most dramatically, this is testimony to the strength, joys, challenges, and boundless optimism found in children with disabilities. Incidentally, it must be noted that after the birth of Daniel, and subsequent rejection, Arthur Miller did not produce any great works of consequence.
In some ways, society has grown out of the prejudice and confusion of how to deal with children who have learning disabilities and physical anomalies, at least we are more sympathetic and understanding of these children and have dedicated more education money to the learning process. With this emphasis has come a greater commitment on the part of parents to keep their children in the home, avoid the institutions, and battle the learning challenges on several fronts. This idea comes at a good time in our culture with a stunning rise in children with autism and learning disabilities. Texas public schools are close to 12% in children enrolled in special education, and it is difficult to determine how many children are being served in private education or various non state supported institutions.
And with this knowledge, I come back to the question at hand, what will happen to these children when they become adults? Are these children, many with great problems, many with few, a drain on society without enough redeeming qualities to become contributing citizens? Or are there are enough programs to help these children when they become adults, adults with job needs, transportation needs, food and clothing, independent living as much as possible. And of course there is the age-old question, should the government even be involved in the helping the disadvantaged? Private charity and family responsibility are the primary methods for reaching out to the adults in our community desperately in need, but somehow I suspect many are not finding these sources. In the case of Daniel Miller, Arthur Miller's son, the state assumed responsibility but did an inadequate job at the time. Eventually, however, Daniel found a home and a loving family. How many are not as fortunate?
I believe there are indeed state-funded programs to help these adults, and I also want to believe that families are taking on more responsibility for their care. In our case, we have researched and sought legal council for ways to help Joel as he enters adulthood, and have decided to take advantage of the MHMR support system for helping Joel, plus have decided after much thought and prayer to assume responsibility for his care by keeping him with us at home until such a time that we are no longer able. There are still many questions we have regarding our son, such as a job, transportation, staying by himself, relationships, food, but overall we are confident in Joel's future.
Yet, I wonder what kind of societal responsibility we have or what state resources are available or how much family dedication there is for all those children not only with autism (some are estimating 1 of 165 children), but also with other learning disabilities, who will in the not so distant future become adults. This is not a question merely for those of us with children who qualify but ultimately is a question for everyone. At the same time, there is hope in this regard, for I was encouraged, in visiting with MHMR, to discover the diligent effort being made to identify adults in need of care. I look forward to this practice continuing.
I read with interest, a little shock, and emotional disparity an article about the American playwright, Arthur Miller, known for Death of a Salesman, and The Crucible, and his Down Syndrome son, Daniel. (http://www.vanityfair.com/fame/features/2007/09/miller200709?printable=true¤tPage=all)
It is a dramatic story of a public figure (Arthur Miller was once married to Marilyn Monroe) who rejected his son, sent him to an institution where he was mistreated, shuffled around, and finally adopted by a family he calls his own, never checked on him, and only near the end of the playwright's life, sought an opportunity to meet him. Ironically, in Miller's will, he made Daniel a rightful heir to his sizable fortune. It is also a historical, cultural study of the 60s, when parents did not know what should be done or could be done for their children with special problems. A prominent, well-known intellect, immensely respected for two long-running plays, in a moment of fear, or maybe anger, or lack of compassion, or maybe even misguided wisdom, sent his son to what he perhaps thought would be a better life for himself and the infant, who was projected to have a shortened lifespan. Perhaps most dramatically, this is testimony to the strength, joys, challenges, and boundless optimism found in children with disabilities. Incidentally, it must be noted that after the birth of Daniel, and subsequent rejection, Arthur Miller did not produce any great works of consequence.
In some ways, society has grown out of the prejudice and confusion of how to deal with children who have learning disabilities and physical anomalies, at least we are more sympathetic and understanding of these children and have dedicated more education money to the learning process. With this emphasis has come a greater commitment on the part of parents to keep their children in the home, avoid the institutions, and battle the learning challenges on several fronts. This idea comes at a good time in our culture with a stunning rise in children with autism and learning disabilities. Texas public schools are close to 12% in children enrolled in special education, and it is difficult to determine how many children are being served in private education or various non state supported institutions.
And with this knowledge, I come back to the question at hand, what will happen to these children when they become adults? Are these children, many with great problems, many with few, a drain on society without enough redeeming qualities to become contributing citizens? Or are there are enough programs to help these children when they become adults, adults with job needs, transportation needs, food and clothing, independent living as much as possible. And of course there is the age-old question, should the government even be involved in the helping the disadvantaged? Private charity and family responsibility are the primary methods for reaching out to the adults in our community desperately in need, but somehow I suspect many are not finding these sources. In the case of Daniel Miller, Arthur Miller's son, the state assumed responsibility but did an inadequate job at the time. Eventually, however, Daniel found a home and a loving family. How many are not as fortunate?
I believe there are indeed state-funded programs to help these adults, and I also want to believe that families are taking on more responsibility for their care. In our case, we have researched and sought legal council for ways to help Joel as he enters adulthood, and have decided to take advantage of the MHMR support system for helping Joel, plus have decided after much thought and prayer to assume responsibility for his care by keeping him with us at home until such a time that we are no longer able. There are still many questions we have regarding our son, such as a job, transportation, staying by himself, relationships, food, but overall we are confident in Joel's future.
Yet, I wonder what kind of societal responsibility we have or what state resources are available or how much family dedication there is for all those children not only with autism (some are estimating 1 of 165 children), but also with other learning disabilities, who will in the not so distant future become adults. This is not a question merely for those of us with children who qualify but ultimately is a question for everyone. At the same time, there is hope in this regard, for I was encouraged, in visiting with MHMR, to discover the diligent effort being made to identify adults in need of care. I look forward to this practice continuing.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Convenient Selflessness--Part II
As college students get ready to begin a new year of learning, I am concerned that many of them are searching for ways to help others when it is convenient to do so. Unfortunately, this can often interrupt the collective and individual learning flow and becomes a rationalization for personal mediocrity, an excuse for unproductive results, and often a bargaining chip for acceptance of lower standards. Let's take a marching band rehearsal as an example.
A marching band is comprised of individuals all working together for a common goal, combining music and motion in an eclectic and potentially glorious display of art, energy, sound, emotion, and dramatic presentation. Each person brings to the table a multitude of characteristics and background that make up the individual human spirit and personal definition, to include parental training, aptitude, emotional stability, interests, concepts, work ethic, learning styles, health, and psychological profile. These characteristics operate synchronistically to comprise the human being. As I reflect on the complexity of people, I am actually amazed that there any successful marching bands at all!
Nevertheless, the concept of marching band seems to work. It works due to selfishness! Each person without exception is responsible to learn the music, learn the moves, learn the right spot, apply the knowledge, skills, and energy necessary for success and produce excellence when it is needed. I recall having an ineffective teaching method of having the students help each other on the field in rehearsals. The students would quickly point out the flaws of the other students and "help" them into the correct spot, in addition, they would mention the wrong notes being played, and the multitude of marching mistakes. Soon the result was anger, arrogance, contentiousness, stress, and confusion. The students who were "absolutely certain" about their position on the field, blamed those who were incorrect, and left each rehearsal in disgust at the multitude of inept marchers "ruining" the excellence of the predicted performance. Those less certain (and usually more correct) felt somehow unimportant, flawed, and insecure as though they had no purpose and no rights to attempt something of this magnitude.
I recall the day I took a different approach as a marching band director and encouraged the "fix yourself and nobody else" teaching style. Soon I noticed greater independence, quicker growth and improvement from everyone, quieter rehearsals, and stunningly accurate results. The band demonstrated a higher standard through individual effort that lead to collective excellence.
Can adherence and commitment to selfish gain lead to selfless corporate results? I believe the answer is yes to an extent. I believe we should selfishly prepare for selflessness in order to accomplish the greatest good. One of the greatest examples of this is the life of Jesus Christ who spent most of his life becoming prepared for what would be a ministry that led to the ultimate sacrifice for mankind. Applying physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental energy gave him the necessary tools for His ministry that would become the finest example of selfless behavior the world has ever known.
This leads me to conclude that students should take the opportunity to develop themselves so that they in turn can one day help others. Selfish commitment to excellence can, if applied well and used wisely, be one of the best ways to benefit the collective whole. So as we begin a new school year, I want to encourage relentless dedication to excellence in developing oneself but never lose sight of the higher calling of ministering to others. True selflessness should not be only those times of convenience but in fact is a lifestyle that takes years to find fruition.
A marching band is comprised of individuals all working together for a common goal, combining music and motion in an eclectic and potentially glorious display of art, energy, sound, emotion, and dramatic presentation. Each person brings to the table a multitude of characteristics and background that make up the individual human spirit and personal definition, to include parental training, aptitude, emotional stability, interests, concepts, work ethic, learning styles, health, and psychological profile. These characteristics operate synchronistically to comprise the human being. As I reflect on the complexity of people, I am actually amazed that there any successful marching bands at all!
Nevertheless, the concept of marching band seems to work. It works due to selfishness! Each person without exception is responsible to learn the music, learn the moves, learn the right spot, apply the knowledge, skills, and energy necessary for success and produce excellence when it is needed. I recall having an ineffective teaching method of having the students help each other on the field in rehearsals. The students would quickly point out the flaws of the other students and "help" them into the correct spot, in addition, they would mention the wrong notes being played, and the multitude of marching mistakes. Soon the result was anger, arrogance, contentiousness, stress, and confusion. The students who were "absolutely certain" about their position on the field, blamed those who were incorrect, and left each rehearsal in disgust at the multitude of inept marchers "ruining" the excellence of the predicted performance. Those less certain (and usually more correct) felt somehow unimportant, flawed, and insecure as though they had no purpose and no rights to attempt something of this magnitude.
I recall the day I took a different approach as a marching band director and encouraged the "fix yourself and nobody else" teaching style. Soon I noticed greater independence, quicker growth and improvement from everyone, quieter rehearsals, and stunningly accurate results. The band demonstrated a higher standard through individual effort that lead to collective excellence.
Can adherence and commitment to selfish gain lead to selfless corporate results? I believe the answer is yes to an extent. I believe we should selfishly prepare for selflessness in order to accomplish the greatest good. One of the greatest examples of this is the life of Jesus Christ who spent most of his life becoming prepared for what would be a ministry that led to the ultimate sacrifice for mankind. Applying physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental energy gave him the necessary tools for His ministry that would become the finest example of selfless behavior the world has ever known.
This leads me to conclude that students should take the opportunity to develop themselves so that they in turn can one day help others. Selfish commitment to excellence can, if applied well and used wisely, be one of the best ways to benefit the collective whole. So as we begin a new school year, I want to encourage relentless dedication to excellence in developing oneself but never lose sight of the higher calling of ministering to others. True selflessness should not be only those times of convenience but in fact is a lifestyle that takes years to find fruition.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Convenient Selflessness--Pt. 1
Recognizing this will not be a popular position, nevertheless I feel a need to postulate on a subject that has recently become clear to me upon thinking about the new cultural emphasis on technology and its effects on students, young adults, and society at large. Many times I have read and heard speeches on the obvious selfishness of the upcoming generation, considered by many to be one of the most self-involved, self-serving groups of people the world has known. Speakers often have great examples to support their position, and use their thesis as a motivational tool for altruism, charity, and ultimately Christian behavior, pointing to Christ as a model of sacrificial actions, serving all of humanity with selfless acts of kindness by giving of himself regardless of personal discomfort, to the disregard of personal safety.
No doubt this is true and my purpose in proposing a different view is not to negate the tremendous far-reaching actions of the greatest man to walk this earth, a man whom we Christians exalt for His sacrificial behavior, wisdom, love, and charity; yet, I do wish to look at another angle, partly due to my tendency to be a contrarian, and partly due to seeing both some benefits to selfless behavior and some potential problems. I propose that students, in particular, need to guard against convenient selflessness that can become an obstacle to personal success.
I recently experienced some computer problems related to a music writing software program situation that rendered the program ineffective. Like many computer people, I often arrogantly believe that eventually I can figure out my own problems, but after two weeks, I decided to enter an online help forum and submit my problem. Within a few hours, I had 4 responses, one of which solved my problem simply, efficiently, and completely. Similarly, I had another problem related to the computer and this time found the solution on a discussion board. I did not pay for this help and in one case, it involved downloading a free program used to solve the problem. The sharing of information across the computer world is astonishingly beneficial and vastly necessary for those of us who lead active computer oriented lives.
People, in general, are quick to offer help and to reach out to those in need when they recognize a way to help a particular situation. Why do we love puppies so much? Is it the awareness that a puppy is helpless and needs loving attention? Why does the tenderness of a mother holding her baby melt and mold us into babbling, high pitched children when we get near? Our hearts soften when we see someone in a wheelchair or with a cast on a limb, and the flower business remains a major industry due to hospital stays and funerals. I recall conducting an experiment in a crowded mall by "accidentally" falling down and hesitating before getting up. As I expected, some walked by, trying to avoid looking at the poor soul, but many people reached out to help me up and ask if everything would were okay.
I suspect that had I been seriously hurt, requiring instant medical attention, most would have been quite hesitant to act on the need, but I believe someone would have contacted officials or sought medical help immediately. I believe we live in a world of "instant" good Samaritans who desire to reach out and help when it is convenient and easy. I believe we are facing an epidemic of short-term altruism that in some instances can cause more harm than good. There is nothing wrong with selfless, charitable behavior and certainly helping others can be considered a virtue, but I do question how giving are we really and at what point is our altruism limited to our own convenience.
I do need to be careful before proceeding further to clarify that I do not subscribe to the Ayn Rand philosophy of Objectivism, elevating selfishness to lofty position of great value, and I find the old idea of "Self-Reliance" proposed by Ralph Waldo Emerson to be naive and lacking in recognition of the major contributions of those many individuals whose aptitude or inherent limitations require benevolent intercession of other people, people who actively reach out to help those in need. And yet, as I will point out later, there are some major cultural and societal benefits to selfishness that cannot be ignored.
But I am once again reminded of Aristotle's philosophy of the virtue of moderation: the value of working to achieve a balance between extreme selfishness and selflessness. Of course a Randian would point out that altruism is a myth in that acts of kindness are not selfless but are, indeed, ultimately self-serving, benefitting a person's emotional need to help others and satisfying the requirement to be charitable. Such as the man who feels a need to perform one kind action per week, helping someone cross a street, giving money to someone who needs it, picking up trash, and many other acts of kindness, that while may seem immediately productive, may also be self-serving in motivation.
In this case, attitude and the heart of the individual comes into play which, of course, cannot always be determined. Therefore, one could argue, that while an act of benevolence may in fact be a selfish satisfaction of one's own emotional need to do the right thing, the result, regardless of the motive, is a positive and generally propitious gain for others in addition to oneself.
In the next installment, let us examine some examples of the benefits of some degree of selfishness. Don't give up on me yet. As has been hinted at, I am headed toward a recognition of the great teacher and savior of the world, Jesus Christ whose life practices were both sacrificial and examples of how self-awareness and self-serving actions can also lead to great gain for others.
No doubt this is true and my purpose in proposing a different view is not to negate the tremendous far-reaching actions of the greatest man to walk this earth, a man whom we Christians exalt for His sacrificial behavior, wisdom, love, and charity; yet, I do wish to look at another angle, partly due to my tendency to be a contrarian, and partly due to seeing both some benefits to selfless behavior and some potential problems. I propose that students, in particular, need to guard against convenient selflessness that can become an obstacle to personal success.
I recently experienced some computer problems related to a music writing software program situation that rendered the program ineffective. Like many computer people, I often arrogantly believe that eventually I can figure out my own problems, but after two weeks, I decided to enter an online help forum and submit my problem. Within a few hours, I had 4 responses, one of which solved my problem simply, efficiently, and completely. Similarly, I had another problem related to the computer and this time found the solution on a discussion board. I did not pay for this help and in one case, it involved downloading a free program used to solve the problem. The sharing of information across the computer world is astonishingly beneficial and vastly necessary for those of us who lead active computer oriented lives.
People, in general, are quick to offer help and to reach out to those in need when they recognize a way to help a particular situation. Why do we love puppies so much? Is it the awareness that a puppy is helpless and needs loving attention? Why does the tenderness of a mother holding her baby melt and mold us into babbling, high pitched children when we get near? Our hearts soften when we see someone in a wheelchair or with a cast on a limb, and the flower business remains a major industry due to hospital stays and funerals. I recall conducting an experiment in a crowded mall by "accidentally" falling down and hesitating before getting up. As I expected, some walked by, trying to avoid looking at the poor soul, but many people reached out to help me up and ask if everything would were okay.
I suspect that had I been seriously hurt, requiring instant medical attention, most would have been quite hesitant to act on the need, but I believe someone would have contacted officials or sought medical help immediately. I believe we live in a world of "instant" good Samaritans who desire to reach out and help when it is convenient and easy. I believe we are facing an epidemic of short-term altruism that in some instances can cause more harm than good. There is nothing wrong with selfless, charitable behavior and certainly helping others can be considered a virtue, but I do question how giving are we really and at what point is our altruism limited to our own convenience.
I do need to be careful before proceeding further to clarify that I do not subscribe to the Ayn Rand philosophy of Objectivism, elevating selfishness to lofty position of great value, and I find the old idea of "Self-Reliance" proposed by Ralph Waldo Emerson to be naive and lacking in recognition of the major contributions of those many individuals whose aptitude or inherent limitations require benevolent intercession of other people, people who actively reach out to help those in need. And yet, as I will point out later, there are some major cultural and societal benefits to selfishness that cannot be ignored.
But I am once again reminded of Aristotle's philosophy of the virtue of moderation: the value of working to achieve a balance between extreme selfishness and selflessness. Of course a Randian would point out that altruism is a myth in that acts of kindness are not selfless but are, indeed, ultimately self-serving, benefitting a person's emotional need to help others and satisfying the requirement to be charitable. Such as the man who feels a need to perform one kind action per week, helping someone cross a street, giving money to someone who needs it, picking up trash, and many other acts of kindness, that while may seem immediately productive, may also be self-serving in motivation.
In this case, attitude and the heart of the individual comes into play which, of course, cannot always be determined. Therefore, one could argue, that while an act of benevolence may in fact be a selfish satisfaction of one's own emotional need to do the right thing, the result, regardless of the motive, is a positive and generally propitious gain for others in addition to oneself.
In the next installment, let us examine some examples of the benefits of some degree of selfishness. Don't give up on me yet. As has been hinted at, I am headed toward a recognition of the great teacher and savior of the world, Jesus Christ whose life practices were both sacrificial and examples of how self-awareness and self-serving actions can also lead to great gain for others.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Jeremy Lewis and the Sign
In the summer of 2000, I was in Dallas finishing up a great week of music and worship with the Baptist All-State Choir and Band when I received a call from my wife that one of my Howard Payne University Band students had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. I spent that evening in tears of sorrow as I reflected on the short but meaningful life of Jeremy. He was a fine 20 year old music major who played the piano, euphonium, and was engaged to be married. A class act in character and in appearance, Jeremy enjoyed a rather theatrical but pleasant approach to life, with styled hair, sharp clothes, and a warm personal presentation. The semester prior to his death, he and I had driven together to his home town band rehearsal and enjoyed visiting about band, church, and life in general.
His funeral was difficult, as all funerals are, and I among many others sang, played, and honored the memory of our friend. Subsequent weeks of honoring included endowing a scholarship in his memory, writing a piece of music for band which was later published, dedicating a concert to his memory, placing photos and a poem in the band hall, and making another trip to the cemetery to pay my respects. About this time, we had been working to have a more permanent marching band tower that would be safe (our old tower was a falling apart scaffolding), and provide a necessary platform for teaching. It seemed logical and right to call the tower the Jeremy Lewis Memorial Band Tower. Much of the money for the tower came from the two organizations, Kappa Kappa Psi and Tau Beta Sigma.
I approved of the sign and saw the proposed wording on a piece of paper. Much to my surprise, however, the sign was enormous, almost ostentatious, and covered the width of the tower with lettering equal to the size of the Howard Payne University sign. At the time and in the years that followed, my emotions ran counter to my logic. I was thankful and continue to be thankful that Jeremy's life made a major impact on so many including myself, and the sign was another way to honor his memory. And yet, it was the life of Jeremy that was not diaphanous and all the signs in the world cannot supplant or even supplement his remarkable contributions and his significance to all who had crossed his path. A sign is only a material object, not a person.
Two recent events led me to remove the sign which was not done in any kind of "cowardly" fashion but rather was done in the middle of the day. One was the tragic death of Shane Ewen, another Kappa Kappa Psi brother from an earlier generation who deserves to be honored in some way, and the second was the acceptance that our band tower was and is unnecessarily high considering the size of the band. In addition, with the upcoming construction on Mims, it seemed a good time to consider selling the tower, replacing it with a smaller, mobile one, and placing upon it a smaller, commemorative Jeremy Lewis sign. Further refection made me realize that all our lives have meaning and it is time to find a way to acknowledge other music and band alums who have passed away.
So with a conflict of emotions, I removed the sign hoping my Kappa Kappa Psi brothers would accept and understand that the time had come for a change. My own son, Jacob, helped considerably with a supportive email he sent to the brothers of the fraternity. Rather than expend our emotions in anger over the sign, I would prefer, and I believe, so would the family, that those who wish to honor Jeremy's memory, consider giving money to the Jeremy Lewis Scholarship. I can think of no better way to keep Jeremy's memory alive than to perpetuate his life through future lives of music students.
If you feel a need to disagree or agree, please contact me directly or you may respond to this letter. This has not been an easy decision for me, but after much prayer and thought, I felt it was time. I mostly welcome your ideas on how we can honor the passing of other band and music alumni. I am considering a plaque for the display case in the music building, or perhaps a memorial on the side of the building, or maybe even a walkway. Please let me know your thoughts.
His funeral was difficult, as all funerals are, and I among many others sang, played, and honored the memory of our friend. Subsequent weeks of honoring included endowing a scholarship in his memory, writing a piece of music for band which was later published, dedicating a concert to his memory, placing photos and a poem in the band hall, and making another trip to the cemetery to pay my respects. About this time, we had been working to have a more permanent marching band tower that would be safe (our old tower was a falling apart scaffolding), and provide a necessary platform for teaching. It seemed logical and right to call the tower the Jeremy Lewis Memorial Band Tower. Much of the money for the tower came from the two organizations, Kappa Kappa Psi and Tau Beta Sigma.
I approved of the sign and saw the proposed wording on a piece of paper. Much to my surprise, however, the sign was enormous, almost ostentatious, and covered the width of the tower with lettering equal to the size of the Howard Payne University sign. At the time and in the years that followed, my emotions ran counter to my logic. I was thankful and continue to be thankful that Jeremy's life made a major impact on so many including myself, and the sign was another way to honor his memory. And yet, it was the life of Jeremy that was not diaphanous and all the signs in the world cannot supplant or even supplement his remarkable contributions and his significance to all who had crossed his path. A sign is only a material object, not a person.
Two recent events led me to remove the sign which was not done in any kind of "cowardly" fashion but rather was done in the middle of the day. One was the tragic death of Shane Ewen, another Kappa Kappa Psi brother from an earlier generation who deserves to be honored in some way, and the second was the acceptance that our band tower was and is unnecessarily high considering the size of the band. In addition, with the upcoming construction on Mims, it seemed a good time to consider selling the tower, replacing it with a smaller, mobile one, and placing upon it a smaller, commemorative Jeremy Lewis sign. Further refection made me realize that all our lives have meaning and it is time to find a way to acknowledge other music and band alums who have passed away.
So with a conflict of emotions, I removed the sign hoping my Kappa Kappa Psi brothers would accept and understand that the time had come for a change. My own son, Jacob, helped considerably with a supportive email he sent to the brothers of the fraternity. Rather than expend our emotions in anger over the sign, I would prefer, and I believe, so would the family, that those who wish to honor Jeremy's memory, consider giving money to the Jeremy Lewis Scholarship. I can think of no better way to keep Jeremy's memory alive than to perpetuate his life through future lives of music students.
If you feel a need to disagree or agree, please contact me directly or you may respond to this letter. This has not been an easy decision for me, but after much prayer and thought, I felt it was time. I mostly welcome your ideas on how we can honor the passing of other band and music alumni. I am considering a plaque for the display case in the music building, or perhaps a memorial on the side of the building, or maybe even a walkway. Please let me know your thoughts.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Loving Patience!
Okay, it is true, we were slobs. Not everyone, just 3 of us were slobs, and not complete slobs but just generally messy. We weren't messy in the same way nor at the same time, but nevertheless being neat was at the bottom of the list of importance. The fourth member of the family was the organized and tidy one. The 3 boys were "creatively organized" and the mother was fastidious. It made for a tough household situation, but somehow she dealt with it magnificently with great patience and a loving guiding hand that only a Mother knows how to manage. 3 against 1, what great possibilities for battles, disagreements, contentiousness, and maybe family war that could be, and yet, what really happened? A glare, or a few words and she usually won!
Yes, there were the frequent speeches about picking up our clothes, making our beds, sweeping the garage, taking our dishes to the kitchen, wiping up the messes, being more careful, fixing the cushions, picking up the toys, putting the balls in the closet, wiping our feet, taking off the occasional wet shoes, and unraveling the latest wild invention such as the automatic bed maker, the clothes shaper for ease of dressing, and the new object designed for making noise. Later years included picking up musical instrument paraphernalia such as slide grease, valve oil, mouthpieces, hand guards, water bottles, manuscript paper, music, records, and a seemingly unlimited supply of books.
On top of this chaos of fun, knowledge, and creativity, we 3 led very busy lives requiring quick meals, transportation to and fro, rehearsals, lessons, games, eventually dates (well, 2 of us anyway had dates), and an infinite number of church obligations from ranging from services, fellowships, practices, various socials, Royal Ambassadors, and even meetings. My father, with memberships in the Optimist Club, Credit Union board, Community Band, various civic organizations, and two jobs received the most attention but his two boys were close behind, and in different but oddly similar ways, remained exceedingly active throughout their formative years.
The abundant flowing of creative ideas in my home were matched by a roller coaster of emotional ups and downs--easy to imagine with 2 messy sons and 1 messy husband who never seemed to run out of a new ideas--with an ever-present blanket of love that enveloped our household regardless of the circumstances. We were not afraid to fail, not afraid to try, and always willing to take a risk for the moments of success. This energetic, intense application of all endeavors resulted in occasional tears of sorrow and, more importantly, the sharing of a multitude of joys and excitement when something worked out as hoped. When I think back on growing up in the Tucker home, I am humbled and amazed at the complexity that surrounded our lives.
But behind it all stood a woman with immense patience and tolerance who made the events, situations, and mostly success possible. My mother. Breakfast every morning, dinner on the table every evening, clean up quickly without help, rush a boy to an event, return to bring him home, get the boys in bed, wait up for them in later years, clean the house, wash the dishes, fold the clothes, hug the boy when appropriate, scold when needed, and mostly stabilize what could have been constant creative chaos. She was infinitely patient and hard-working and mostly supportive of her right-brained family, and while she may not have understood the excessive originality of each boy, one of which was her husband, she somehow respected it, and encouraged the gifts rather than stifled them. In addition, she eventually had her own successful career, which continues today with the not unexpected selflessness of her life as a wife and mother shining forth in her current activities as a college teacher.
How she put up with us, I will never know. We probably rarely helped around the house, and, of course we were much too busy to ever cook or clean up, and staying organized was a total mystery to the three of us, but somehow she kept up with our lives, our schedules, our personalities, and unconditionally offered us motherly love and attention. Thanks to my mother and all mothers who put up with so much.
I must laugh as I hear my wife remind us, 4 boys this time, to clean up our mess, make the beds, straighten the office, take off the wet shoes, and sweep the garage, and I marvel at her ability to scold when needed, and hug when appropriate. I guess nothing ever changes the constant devoted love of a wonderful wife and mother!
Yes, there were the frequent speeches about picking up our clothes, making our beds, sweeping the garage, taking our dishes to the kitchen, wiping up the messes, being more careful, fixing the cushions, picking up the toys, putting the balls in the closet, wiping our feet, taking off the occasional wet shoes, and unraveling the latest wild invention such as the automatic bed maker, the clothes shaper for ease of dressing, and the new object designed for making noise. Later years included picking up musical instrument paraphernalia such as slide grease, valve oil, mouthpieces, hand guards, water bottles, manuscript paper, music, records, and a seemingly unlimited supply of books.
On top of this chaos of fun, knowledge, and creativity, we 3 led very busy lives requiring quick meals, transportation to and fro, rehearsals, lessons, games, eventually dates (well, 2 of us anyway had dates), and an infinite number of church obligations from ranging from services, fellowships, practices, various socials, Royal Ambassadors, and even meetings. My father, with memberships in the Optimist Club, Credit Union board, Community Band, various civic organizations, and two jobs received the most attention but his two boys were close behind, and in different but oddly similar ways, remained exceedingly active throughout their formative years.
The abundant flowing of creative ideas in my home were matched by a roller coaster of emotional ups and downs--easy to imagine with 2 messy sons and 1 messy husband who never seemed to run out of a new ideas--with an ever-present blanket of love that enveloped our household regardless of the circumstances. We were not afraid to fail, not afraid to try, and always willing to take a risk for the moments of success. This energetic, intense application of all endeavors resulted in occasional tears of sorrow and, more importantly, the sharing of a multitude of joys and excitement when something worked out as hoped. When I think back on growing up in the Tucker home, I am humbled and amazed at the complexity that surrounded our lives.
But behind it all stood a woman with immense patience and tolerance who made the events, situations, and mostly success possible. My mother. Breakfast every morning, dinner on the table every evening, clean up quickly without help, rush a boy to an event, return to bring him home, get the boys in bed, wait up for them in later years, clean the house, wash the dishes, fold the clothes, hug the boy when appropriate, scold when needed, and mostly stabilize what could have been constant creative chaos. She was infinitely patient and hard-working and mostly supportive of her right-brained family, and while she may not have understood the excessive originality of each boy, one of which was her husband, she somehow respected it, and encouraged the gifts rather than stifled them. In addition, she eventually had her own successful career, which continues today with the not unexpected selflessness of her life as a wife and mother shining forth in her current activities as a college teacher.
How she put up with us, I will never know. We probably rarely helped around the house, and, of course we were much too busy to ever cook or clean up, and staying organized was a total mystery to the three of us, but somehow she kept up with our lives, our schedules, our personalities, and unconditionally offered us motherly love and attention. Thanks to my mother and all mothers who put up with so much.
I must laugh as I hear my wife remind us, 4 boys this time, to clean up our mess, make the beds, straighten the office, take off the wet shoes, and sweep the garage, and I marvel at her ability to scold when needed, and hug when appropriate. I guess nothing ever changes the constant devoted love of a wonderful wife and mother!
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Joel the Organist
Upon completing the previous blog on Joel, I realized most of the attention was on Joel as a listener and appreciator of music, but mention should be made that Joel is also a performing musician with his choice of media being the pipe organ or the electronic organ. In many ways, it is difficult to explain why he prefers the sound and style of the organ over other instruments and it is equally difficult to understand his desire and almost need to play hymns on an organ, and yet, there is no doubt, that Joel loves playing hymns on the organ.
The organ is considered the "king" of all the instruments with its almost infinite combinations of sounds and possibilities of range and dynamic extension not to mention the requirement to use both hands and feet in a complex display of virtuosity and musical comprehension. Organists are generally highly intelligent, detail oriented, multi-dimensioned, with a quiet strength and self-confidence born from playing an instrument with the capability of dominating all other sound.
Unlike a piano which relies on a pedal to provide for a sustained quality, the organ has a smooth, sustained quality that requires a special playing technique of connecting the notes by pressing the next note at the same moment the previous one is lifted. The result is a beautiful non-percussive approach to playing that allows for great expression and elision of musical phrases.
As was mentioned in an earlier blog, Joel's propensity to see the world "non-percussively," optimistically, and harmoniously, and his preference for smooth music without the harsh angles often found in music is manifested in the type of music he enjoys hearing and performing. Related to this is his speech which often lacks definition, articulation, and even volume. He intends to speak clearly, enunciate accurately, and loudly enough to be heard, but the result is often somewhat slurred, hesitant, and at a low dynamic. In an odd, but not necessarily negative way, Joel's speech patterns resemble that of an organ: connected, non-percussive, rich, pleasant, and congenial.
In conclusion, I believe that Joel's preference for hymns and marches is indicative of his general positive demeanor, total tolerance, and acceptance of all things good. I also contend that his desire to practice the organ is an extension of his own unusual approach to speaking and his preference for connected sounds rather than angular, sharp sounds. This is, of course, difficult or maybe impossible to prove, but nevertheless Joel continues to enjoy playing hymns on the organ and he is very happy to practice for several hours a day. His tendency to repeat the same hymn in the same way will be dealt with at another time.
The organ is considered the "king" of all the instruments with its almost infinite combinations of sounds and possibilities of range and dynamic extension not to mention the requirement to use both hands and feet in a complex display of virtuosity and musical comprehension. Organists are generally highly intelligent, detail oriented, multi-dimensioned, with a quiet strength and self-confidence born from playing an instrument with the capability of dominating all other sound.
Unlike a piano which relies on a pedal to provide for a sustained quality, the organ has a smooth, sustained quality that requires a special playing technique of connecting the notes by pressing the next note at the same moment the previous one is lifted. The result is a beautiful non-percussive approach to playing that allows for great expression and elision of musical phrases.
As was mentioned in an earlier blog, Joel's propensity to see the world "non-percussively," optimistically, and harmoniously, and his preference for smooth music without the harsh angles often found in music is manifested in the type of music he enjoys hearing and performing. Related to this is his speech which often lacks definition, articulation, and even volume. He intends to speak clearly, enunciate accurately, and loudly enough to be heard, but the result is often somewhat slurred, hesitant, and at a low dynamic. In an odd, but not necessarily negative way, Joel's speech patterns resemble that of an organ: connected, non-percussive, rich, pleasant, and congenial.
In conclusion, I believe that Joel's preference for hymns and marches is indicative of his general positive demeanor, total tolerance, and acceptance of all things good. I also contend that his desire to practice the organ is an extension of his own unusual approach to speaking and his preference for connected sounds rather than angular, sharp sounds. This is, of course, difficult or maybe impossible to prove, but nevertheless Joel continues to enjoy playing hymns on the organ and he is very happy to practice for several hours a day. His tendency to repeat the same hymn in the same way will be dealt with at another time.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Joel the Musician
To define the character traits of a musician is to limit and even endanger the creative individuality of the human spirit that creates, interprets, and expresses the many facets of what music means, and the emotion surrounding the creation and enjoyment of sound. But, indeed, and rather strangely, there are some general characteristics often found in many musicians, such as emotionalism, spontaneity, complexity, that are not displayed by our son Joel who loves music as much as anyone.
Most musicians, performers, composers, appreciators, scholars, have an element of creativity and expression that require emotional demonstration in some form or another. According to Aristotle, music helps purify and organize unwanted emotions by reaching into the brain and beyond and into the soul of the human, and then clarifying and sometimes systematizing those feelings that are difficult to put into words. Music, and the arts in general, allow for expression of emotions which in turn purify or provide catharsis for the human spirit.
Joel may not have all the typical characteristics of autism, incidentally, in fact, very few autistic children have absolutely all the qualities that traditionally define autism, but he does have two distinguishable traits often found in children with his disability. Joel displays a marked lack of emotional personal creativity, and connected to this is an unusual objective expression of truth without emotional coloring. This enchanting and unusual quality requires him always to tell the truth in all situations without any additional human interpretation or supplementation of the situation. Joel seeks after joy, goodness, and light in all things and in all people without an awareness of any darkness that may exist in the world or any kind of hidden agenda. He finds the good in everyone and everything.
Because music demands emotional expression, it becomes a difficult but not impossible medium for Joel to understand and to apply. And yet, music is very meaningful to Joel in many ways despite the fact that he is unable to sing. His two favorite styles of music are the hymn and the march, both of which are organized, clean styles of music without the romantic, emotional excesses found in other genres. A majority of hymns are in 4 to 8 measure phrases with a repeated chorus, in a balanced poetic meter, with emphasis on the text, and mostly a singable tuneful melody. Similarly, a march with an introduction, first strain repeated, second strain repeated, trio, break strain, repeat trio, maintains a sense of balance, tonality, rhythmic energy, and melodic tunefulness. Both genres are organized, obvious, clean, enjoyable, uncomplicated, and musically pure.
Joel's inability to pass negative judgment prevents him from criticizing other types of music such as jazz, country western, rock, or atonality, but he does display marked appreciation and emotional response to hymns and marches. He furthermore loves hearing the organ playing almost anything. Psychologically, Joel seems to desire a consonant, dissonant free existence without the edginess and discomfort that are often a part of the ups and downs of normal living. An extension of this desire is the smooth, non-percussiveness of the organ playing hymns and the light enjoyable quality of marches.
Harmonically, most marches and most hymns are in a major key, giving them a buoyancy and unbounded optimism that easily match Joel's world-view and desire for a harmonious existence. Since most people tend to respond and appreciate music that matches their own philosophy, personality, and value system, it is easy to understand how hymns and marches played on the organ are a manifestation of Joel's own charm, warmth, and positive outlook on life. In Joel's world, the more hymns and marches heard, the better off we are! Maybe he has something there.
Most musicians, performers, composers, appreciators, scholars, have an element of creativity and expression that require emotional demonstration in some form or another. According to Aristotle, music helps purify and organize unwanted emotions by reaching into the brain and beyond and into the soul of the human, and then clarifying and sometimes systematizing those feelings that are difficult to put into words. Music, and the arts in general, allow for expression of emotions which in turn purify or provide catharsis for the human spirit.
Joel may not have all the typical characteristics of autism, incidentally, in fact, very few autistic children have absolutely all the qualities that traditionally define autism, but he does have two distinguishable traits often found in children with his disability. Joel displays a marked lack of emotional personal creativity, and connected to this is an unusual objective expression of truth without emotional coloring. This enchanting and unusual quality requires him always to tell the truth in all situations without any additional human interpretation or supplementation of the situation. Joel seeks after joy, goodness, and light in all things and in all people without an awareness of any darkness that may exist in the world or any kind of hidden agenda. He finds the good in everyone and everything.
Because music demands emotional expression, it becomes a difficult but not impossible medium for Joel to understand and to apply. And yet, music is very meaningful to Joel in many ways despite the fact that he is unable to sing. His two favorite styles of music are the hymn and the march, both of which are organized, clean styles of music without the romantic, emotional excesses found in other genres. A majority of hymns are in 4 to 8 measure phrases with a repeated chorus, in a balanced poetic meter, with emphasis on the text, and mostly a singable tuneful melody. Similarly, a march with an introduction, first strain repeated, second strain repeated, trio, break strain, repeat trio, maintains a sense of balance, tonality, rhythmic energy, and melodic tunefulness. Both genres are organized, obvious, clean, enjoyable, uncomplicated, and musically pure.
Joel's inability to pass negative judgment prevents him from criticizing other types of music such as jazz, country western, rock, or atonality, but he does display marked appreciation and emotional response to hymns and marches. He furthermore loves hearing the organ playing almost anything. Psychologically, Joel seems to desire a consonant, dissonant free existence without the edginess and discomfort that are often a part of the ups and downs of normal living. An extension of this desire is the smooth, non-percussiveness of the organ playing hymns and the light enjoyable quality of marches.
Harmonically, most marches and most hymns are in a major key, giving them a buoyancy and unbounded optimism that easily match Joel's world-view and desire for a harmonious existence. Since most people tend to respond and appreciate music that matches their own philosophy, personality, and value system, it is easy to understand how hymns and marches played on the organ are a manifestation of Joel's own charm, warmth, and positive outlook on life. In Joel's world, the more hymns and marches heard, the better off we are! Maybe he has something there.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Lessons Learned from the Goats
Although far from being an expert, my limited time as an unsuccessful, inconsistent but zealous goat farmer has given me a new perspective on priorities. Theirs is a simple existence without the complexity of making choices and having to analyze every situation. At times their lack of intellect and creativity seems almost enviable, but in the end, they are just goats. Still, maybe there is an element of charm to their simplicity! Some of these are lessons the goats still need to learn as well.
10. Every now and then, go run and play.
9. Eat the right things and avoid the indigestible.
8. Rest at night.
7. There is safety and comfort among friends.
6. When you get butted, which happens often, don't give up.
5. Protect your children, they are worth it.
4. Stay clean and keep the germs away.
3. Express your happiness at the simple joys of life.
2. Seek cover when it rains.
1. Don't stick your head in a fence, it is hard to get out without help!
10. Every now and then, go run and play.
9. Eat the right things and avoid the indigestible.
8. Rest at night.
7. There is safety and comfort among friends.
6. When you get butted, which happens often, don't give up.
5. Protect your children, they are worth it.
4. Stay clean and keep the germs away.
3. Express your happiness at the simple joys of life.
2. Seek cover when it rains.
1. Don't stick your head in a fence, it is hard to get out without help!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The Volunteer
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she knew it was time for her nightly journey to fulfill the promise she had made. She looked in on her children before heading out of the door to her 1957 Mercury that although it had some scratches and some dents, it was the only car they had. The old car was far from perfect but to the family of five, it was a limousine of the highest order.
Before leaving the house, as she had done countless times, she made sure her youngest, a little girl of 3, was warm and comfortable, glanced at her other daughter, a 5 year old in the nearby bed, walked across the hall, smiled at the poster of the motorcycle that her 8 year old son kept on the wall, kissed her husband goodnight, whispered in his ear that she loved him and that she would be back in time to make him breakfast, and left the house for the center.
It had all begun a few years before when her good friend from grade school had shown up at her house with their 6 year daughter. The little girl was severely mentally handicapped and the family could no longer take care of her. The physical and emotional strain had eventually been too demanding on the family and although a difficult decision, it was time to put her in an institution. But the fear of leaving her there among strangers was too great for the loving family who lived far away, and on the way, they stopped to see their good friend to ask her a question that would change the woman's life forever.
"We are going to place our child in the school for the severely handicapped. Would you check on our little girl and make sure she is okay?"
These words would both haunt her and comfort her for the rest of her life. She often recalled that moment of hesitation as she considered her answer. What did this mean exactly? What did "check on" require? Did she want to do this? Would it take much time and energy? Could she really make a difference? These thoughts and more ran through mind rapidly before hearing herself say, "I promise to look after her."
Now the words "I promise" are often used haphazardly in today's world as a way to placate another person or to demonstrate a pretension of sincerity with no intention of keeping the promise. But to the woman, a wife and mother of 3, the words "I promise" represented a verbal commitment to long-term responsibility.
She recalled, wryly, her first time to visit the center. Instead of the sweet, learning disabled children she expected to see and to spend effort helping by reading to them, playing games, and telling stories, she found a crowded room full of severely handicapped children whose limitations were beyond the scope of her imagination. As she stared in astonishment at the scene before her, every part of her being wanted to run out of the room, never to return; and yet, she continued to stare, frozen in place, with a mixture of fear and determination as she recalled her promise to watch out for the little girl whose mother was a friend. Would it matter to the little girl? Would the people ever truly know whether she kept her promise or not? Strangely, these questions never entered her mind.
She found the child among the others and began the process of helping her, not trying to remake her, as she originally intended, but simply helping. She helped her wash her hands, eat her food, get dressed, put on her shoes, walk across the room, sit down, stand up, share her toys, play a game, hold a book, smell the flowers, throw the ball, hug a friend, hold hands, and mostly to love the life she had been given. As the woman helped the little girl, she felt herself change, and with the same grit and determination that gave her 3 children, a husband, a home, a life that although not always easy was filled with over-flowing love, she embraced her promise and her responsibility and began volunteering on a regular basis.
Each night when all had turned in and with her family safely in bed, full from dinner, relaxed and happy, her husband asleep, she would go to the family car, drive to the center and begin her work as a volunteer. Cleaning, gathering materials, counseling, redirecting behavior, sewing, washing, hugging, praising, encouraging, and doing everything she could to help the institution and the clients within. Her own children never knew of the woman's efforts since all took place while they were sleeping. They did know that each morning they saw their bright, happy mother and ate of the delicious breakfast before them as they prepared to go to school.
The years eventually became a full-time paid position for the special woman who had remained dedicated to her calling and fulfilled her promise. While she did earn her degree and became a leader among social workers, garnering respect and admiration everywhere she went, she did so without fanfare or self-accolades, but always with excellence and uncompromising devotion. The initial promise resulted in 45 years of making a difference in the lives of thousands of special children.
A heart-felt thanks to the volunteer for sharing of so much of yourself, your time, and your gifts.
Before leaving the house, as she had done countless times, she made sure her youngest, a little girl of 3, was warm and comfortable, glanced at her other daughter, a 5 year old in the nearby bed, walked across the hall, smiled at the poster of the motorcycle that her 8 year old son kept on the wall, kissed her husband goodnight, whispered in his ear that she loved him and that she would be back in time to make him breakfast, and left the house for the center.
It had all begun a few years before when her good friend from grade school had shown up at her house with their 6 year daughter. The little girl was severely mentally handicapped and the family could no longer take care of her. The physical and emotional strain had eventually been too demanding on the family and although a difficult decision, it was time to put her in an institution. But the fear of leaving her there among strangers was too great for the loving family who lived far away, and on the way, they stopped to see their good friend to ask her a question that would change the woman's life forever.
"We are going to place our child in the school for the severely handicapped. Would you check on our little girl and make sure she is okay?"
These words would both haunt her and comfort her for the rest of her life. She often recalled that moment of hesitation as she considered her answer. What did this mean exactly? What did "check on" require? Did she want to do this? Would it take much time and energy? Could she really make a difference? These thoughts and more ran through mind rapidly before hearing herself say, "I promise to look after her."
Now the words "I promise" are often used haphazardly in today's world as a way to placate another person or to demonstrate a pretension of sincerity with no intention of keeping the promise. But to the woman, a wife and mother of 3, the words "I promise" represented a verbal commitment to long-term responsibility.
She recalled, wryly, her first time to visit the center. Instead of the sweet, learning disabled children she expected to see and to spend effort helping by reading to them, playing games, and telling stories, she found a crowded room full of severely handicapped children whose limitations were beyond the scope of her imagination. As she stared in astonishment at the scene before her, every part of her being wanted to run out of the room, never to return; and yet, she continued to stare, frozen in place, with a mixture of fear and determination as she recalled her promise to watch out for the little girl whose mother was a friend. Would it matter to the little girl? Would the people ever truly know whether she kept her promise or not? Strangely, these questions never entered her mind.
She found the child among the others and began the process of helping her, not trying to remake her, as she originally intended, but simply helping. She helped her wash her hands, eat her food, get dressed, put on her shoes, walk across the room, sit down, stand up, share her toys, play a game, hold a book, smell the flowers, throw the ball, hug a friend, hold hands, and mostly to love the life she had been given. As the woman helped the little girl, she felt herself change, and with the same grit and determination that gave her 3 children, a husband, a home, a life that although not always easy was filled with over-flowing love, she embraced her promise and her responsibility and began volunteering on a regular basis.
Each night when all had turned in and with her family safely in bed, full from dinner, relaxed and happy, her husband asleep, she would go to the family car, drive to the center and begin her work as a volunteer. Cleaning, gathering materials, counseling, redirecting behavior, sewing, washing, hugging, praising, encouraging, and doing everything she could to help the institution and the clients within. Her own children never knew of the woman's efforts since all took place while they were sleeping. They did know that each morning they saw their bright, happy mother and ate of the delicious breakfast before them as they prepared to go to school.
The years eventually became a full-time paid position for the special woman who had remained dedicated to her calling and fulfilled her promise. While she did earn her degree and became a leader among social workers, garnering respect and admiration everywhere she went, she did so without fanfare or self-accolades, but always with excellence and uncompromising devotion. The initial promise resulted in 45 years of making a difference in the lives of thousands of special children.
A heart-felt thanks to the volunteer for sharing of so much of yourself, your time, and your gifts.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Rose Bush--Pt. III
Our friend, the little rose bush, sang merrily, walking along, touching various plants and participating in the natural joys of the world in which he lived, including the soft fuzziness of the dusty miller, the gentleness of grass beneath his feet, the sensitive and lovely petunias, the rich orchids, and the dedicated tomato plants which preoccupied the humans' attention more than anything else in the garden. Because the conduct of the humans was not to the liking of the little rose bush, he elected to ignore them and continue his journey and exploration of the garden without allowing his curiosity to be emotionally inhibited by their callous behavior.
He was amiable to all he encountered, except for those odd humans who remained rude and oblivious to the little rose, and he attempted to strike up conversation with the caterpillars and the plants who would converse. An outsider might consider the dialog to be banal, lacking in depth, and providing no sense of goal-direction, but to our walking rose bush in the garden of joy, it was exactly the preferred content for relaxed enjoyment. "Hi! Are you having a good day?" To which the caterpillar would answer, "Yes, I am happy and feeling good!" The little rose bush would smile and ask the bunny rabbit, who had returned to the garden after noticing the rose bush was no longer singing, "Hello! It is good to see you again. How is life treating you?" The bunny rabbit said with hidden irony, "Much better now, thank you." The rose bush smiled and decided not to think about why things were now better for the bunny rabbit.
All in all it was a happy day in the garden until he noticed that the dirt beneath his feet felt rather....well, rather dirty. Where this thought came from, he was not sure, for this was a new and unpleasant situation to our little rose bush having spent most of his life in dirt and never thinking anything negative about it. Previously, dirt had been home and something to enjoy and something in which to be prideful and something created for a sense of permanency and foundational for beauty in nature. Now, however, the dirt had become corrupt, diseased, a habitation for bacteria, a barrier to cleanliness, and the source for all things bad in the world. Suddenly the little rose bush felt a desperate need to get rid of the dirt and avoid it at all costs. In some ways, he did not enjoy these new and disturbing emotions, but at the same time, they seemed to be natural and out of control.
Dwelling on the dirt led him to think about the other ugly objects that surrounded him. He noticed the blotches on the flowers, the inconsistent and knobby bark on the trees, the worms seeking to destroy the tomatoes, the dark weeds creeping their way around the plants, the sharp rocks residing in the dirt, the despicable odors of the bugs and the fertilizer. What once had seemed joyous and blissful had become tension filled and frightening with very little redeeming qualities. This led him to question his unusual appearance of having arms and legs with 7 fingers and 7 toes, and in a rare, but poignant moment, he knew beyond any doubt that within him resided the 7 virtues and the 7 deadly sins, which although he could not define them, he was frighteningly aware of their existence. With this realization of light and dark, he hoped the virtues would overcome the sins, but more than that, he began to wish for an earlier time when he knew neither good nor evil.
Staring at the dirt and experiencing great queasiness in his stomach caused him to double over and to try and rid his feet of the clods that were touching him. But as he began to sweep the dirt away, he saw that his hands with 7 fingers and the tiny thorns on them that pained him on every touch, were causing a sharp almost metallic irritation that increased with each additional touch, and reached down into the core of his being. He looked, and for the first time realized that there were thorns all over his torso, and each thorn had an ugly, hideous appearance exacerbated by a surrounding flaming infection. A moment of reflection reminded him that the thorns had at one time been a normal part of his life and caused no pain, no sensitivity, and required no emotional effort. This moment lasted but a few seconds as his fear of the thorns returned, only to realize the thorns were growing quickly and threatening to stab everything in the garden.
Suddenly he heard an awful noise, similar to clap of thunder several octaves higher, and whirling around to find the source of the terrible sound, he saw something he would never forget and could not completely comprehend. He stared, frozen in place, hoping the terror in front of him was not real but knowing it had indeed really happened, and knowing beyond any doubt that his witnessing of the event had changed him forever. Too ghastly for description, the horror caused the little rose bush to lose his sanity to a world nobody should know.
Without cognition and in an emotional cyclone, he felt himself whirling around and around, spinning out of control, losing his legs, losing his arms, losing the horrid, growing thorns, and feeling the 7 sins as well as the 7 virtues leave his body, and returning to his former state as a sweet little rose bush in the garden. It had happened over a period of years in the space of a second.
All was well in the garden by the house with a family, a dog, and a white picket fence and since there is no such thing as unicorns, the little rose bush was still in the same spot as always, looking regal, and glistening with dew, and feeling that old feeling of contentment and joy. The frightening journey had not really occurred and he smiled as only a rose bush can smile and relished the upcoming day. Yet, for the first time, he was aware that around his stem were thorns, thorns that caused pain. To rid himself of such dark thoughts, he sang a song as our story ends.
"I am so happy here in my world,
Shining in the sun so bright.
It is fun to be simple,
And I do not enjoy the night.
Forever will I be content,
And never seek to know,
I am a little rose bush,
With my petals all aglow."
Knowledge is gain. Or is it?
He was amiable to all he encountered, except for those odd humans who remained rude and oblivious to the little rose, and he attempted to strike up conversation with the caterpillars and the plants who would converse. An outsider might consider the dialog to be banal, lacking in depth, and providing no sense of goal-direction, but to our walking rose bush in the garden of joy, it was exactly the preferred content for relaxed enjoyment. "Hi! Are you having a good day?" To which the caterpillar would answer, "Yes, I am happy and feeling good!" The little rose bush would smile and ask the bunny rabbit, who had returned to the garden after noticing the rose bush was no longer singing, "Hello! It is good to see you again. How is life treating you?" The bunny rabbit said with hidden irony, "Much better now, thank you." The rose bush smiled and decided not to think about why things were now better for the bunny rabbit.
All in all it was a happy day in the garden until he noticed that the dirt beneath his feet felt rather....well, rather dirty. Where this thought came from, he was not sure, for this was a new and unpleasant situation to our little rose bush having spent most of his life in dirt and never thinking anything negative about it. Previously, dirt had been home and something to enjoy and something in which to be prideful and something created for a sense of permanency and foundational for beauty in nature. Now, however, the dirt had become corrupt, diseased, a habitation for bacteria, a barrier to cleanliness, and the source for all things bad in the world. Suddenly the little rose bush felt a desperate need to get rid of the dirt and avoid it at all costs. In some ways, he did not enjoy these new and disturbing emotions, but at the same time, they seemed to be natural and out of control.
Dwelling on the dirt led him to think about the other ugly objects that surrounded him. He noticed the blotches on the flowers, the inconsistent and knobby bark on the trees, the worms seeking to destroy the tomatoes, the dark weeds creeping their way around the plants, the sharp rocks residing in the dirt, the despicable odors of the bugs and the fertilizer. What once had seemed joyous and blissful had become tension filled and frightening with very little redeeming qualities. This led him to question his unusual appearance of having arms and legs with 7 fingers and 7 toes, and in a rare, but poignant moment, he knew beyond any doubt that within him resided the 7 virtues and the 7 deadly sins, which although he could not define them, he was frighteningly aware of their existence. With this realization of light and dark, he hoped the virtues would overcome the sins, but more than that, he began to wish for an earlier time when he knew neither good nor evil.
Staring at the dirt and experiencing great queasiness in his stomach caused him to double over and to try and rid his feet of the clods that were touching him. But as he began to sweep the dirt away, he saw that his hands with 7 fingers and the tiny thorns on them that pained him on every touch, were causing a sharp almost metallic irritation that increased with each additional touch, and reached down into the core of his being. He looked, and for the first time realized that there were thorns all over his torso, and each thorn had an ugly, hideous appearance exacerbated by a surrounding flaming infection. A moment of reflection reminded him that the thorns had at one time been a normal part of his life and caused no pain, no sensitivity, and required no emotional effort. This moment lasted but a few seconds as his fear of the thorns returned, only to realize the thorns were growing quickly and threatening to stab everything in the garden.
Suddenly he heard an awful noise, similar to clap of thunder several octaves higher, and whirling around to find the source of the terrible sound, he saw something he would never forget and could not completely comprehend. He stared, frozen in place, hoping the terror in front of him was not real but knowing it had indeed really happened, and knowing beyond any doubt that his witnessing of the event had changed him forever. Too ghastly for description, the horror caused the little rose bush to lose his sanity to a world nobody should know.
Without cognition and in an emotional cyclone, he felt himself whirling around and around, spinning out of control, losing his legs, losing his arms, losing the horrid, growing thorns, and feeling the 7 sins as well as the 7 virtues leave his body, and returning to his former state as a sweet little rose bush in the garden. It had happened over a period of years in the space of a second.
All was well in the garden by the house with a family, a dog, and a white picket fence and since there is no such thing as unicorns, the little rose bush was still in the same spot as always, looking regal, and glistening with dew, and feeling that old feeling of contentment and joy. The frightening journey had not really occurred and he smiled as only a rose bush can smile and relished the upcoming day. Yet, for the first time, he was aware that around his stem were thorns, thorns that caused pain. To rid himself of such dark thoughts, he sang a song as our story ends.
"I am so happy here in my world,
Shining in the sun so bright.
It is fun to be simple,
And I do not enjoy the night.
Forever will I be content,
And never seek to know,
I am a little rose bush,
With my petals all aglow."
Knowledge is gain. Or is it?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
The Rose Bush--Pt. II
Our little rose bush had never been so ecstatically happy with his new appendages that allowed him great freedom to walk about and touch and learn so many exciting things, to assuage his new curiosity, to discover the joys of the world, to feel the other flowers, to experience the emotion in the environment, and to know what was previously unknown, to love and to be loved, to bask in the bakery of life's desserts, and mostly to partake in all the pleasures presented on the plate.
It was not that the little rose bush had been unhappy with his life as a typical rose bush, rather he had always known contentment and total acceptance of his position in life, not in a sense of resignation as to his own constrained existence, but, since he knew of nothing more, there was no desire for anything greater. Awareness of the other hill often leads to curiosity, which leads to desire for the grass on the other hill, which leads to a lack of satisfaction, which leads to envy and anger. Our little rose bush, however, did not know those emotions since there was no need to experience them and no reason for those feelings.
Walking and touching, the little rose bush found so many wonderful things and even some friends he did not know he had, including worms, caterpillars, spiders, crickets, aphids, and a small but lively bunny rabbit whose goal was to eat and hop, eat and hop. At first the other animals looked at the little rose bush rather strangely, but given the limited capacity to process information, they shortly accepted the oddity of a rose bush with arms, legs, and hands with 7 fingers. Soon everyone not only tolerated each others' differences and respected each others' strengths, each character seemed to draw abilities from the other to create a type of commune not unlike the balance achieved in nature's ecosystem of checks and balances.
The garden was a rich culture of plants, flowers, vegetables, and small fruit trees, all in various stages of growth but all equally healthy displaying the kind of personal attention and love necessary for vitality and beauty. The colors, with green being the prominent hue, were varied and included red, blue, pink, tan, orange, white, and many variations in between. The plants stood tall and received an appropriate balance of sunshine, water, shade, and the occasional natural fertilizer provided by wandering animals. It was a garden deserving of awards and a garden that projected love and physical and emotional health. A place to read, to sleep, to meditate, and to learn, both the plants and the animals. A place of rest, beauty, grandeur, and magnificence. A place for Everyman or in this case, every rose bush.
All were very happy especially the little rose bush who was full of the bliss of newness having never experienced anything so glorious in his previous life as an immobile, albeit beautiful rose bush in a garden by a lovely home in which resided a nice family. Strangely, the family continued its usual activities of checking the garden, leaving the home to run errands, and eating food appropriate to humans but not appetizing at all to the little rose bush. Yet, he was shocked that no family member acknowledged his new look, almost as though each person considered a walking and touching rose bush to be a common occurrence in the garden. Not only were they oblivious, they also seemed rather rude as they pruned, raked, pulled, and organized the garden.
What had henceforth been accepted by the rose bush as human behavior beneficial to the continued existence and success of the garden, now was invasive and violent. He was a little concerned about this and asked his new friends about it, "Why are those people who used to be nice, attacking our sweet garden and being mean?" His friends the insects said, "They are doing what they always do. It is neither nice nor mean." This answer confused the little rose bush who decided to ignore the humans and the insects and walk around some more touching all the things he could see. He sang a pretty song as he strolled through the garden,
"I am a little rose bush,
With brand new hands and legs.
In the garden I walk along,
And avoid the dirt with dregs.
It all seems rather new,
As I learn about what I see,
I am nervous about the future,
Hope I don't hit a tree."
He noticed that the bunny rabbit had run away and he wondered idly if his voice was unsatisfactory or if he just wasn't a good song writer. Since he had no way to compare the quality of his voice or his song to anyone or anything, he was perfectly contented with it and continued singing regardless of the lack of an appreciative audience.
It was not that the little rose bush had been unhappy with his life as a typical rose bush, rather he had always known contentment and total acceptance of his position in life, not in a sense of resignation as to his own constrained existence, but, since he knew of nothing more, there was no desire for anything greater. Awareness of the other hill often leads to curiosity, which leads to desire for the grass on the other hill, which leads to a lack of satisfaction, which leads to envy and anger. Our little rose bush, however, did not know those emotions since there was no need to experience them and no reason for those feelings.
Walking and touching, the little rose bush found so many wonderful things and even some friends he did not know he had, including worms, caterpillars, spiders, crickets, aphids, and a small but lively bunny rabbit whose goal was to eat and hop, eat and hop. At first the other animals looked at the little rose bush rather strangely, but given the limited capacity to process information, they shortly accepted the oddity of a rose bush with arms, legs, and hands with 7 fingers. Soon everyone not only tolerated each others' differences and respected each others' strengths, each character seemed to draw abilities from the other to create a type of commune not unlike the balance achieved in nature's ecosystem of checks and balances.
The garden was a rich culture of plants, flowers, vegetables, and small fruit trees, all in various stages of growth but all equally healthy displaying the kind of personal attention and love necessary for vitality and beauty. The colors, with green being the prominent hue, were varied and included red, blue, pink, tan, orange, white, and many variations in between. The plants stood tall and received an appropriate balance of sunshine, water, shade, and the occasional natural fertilizer provided by wandering animals. It was a garden deserving of awards and a garden that projected love and physical and emotional health. A place to read, to sleep, to meditate, and to learn, both the plants and the animals. A place of rest, beauty, grandeur, and magnificence. A place for Everyman or in this case, every rose bush.
All were very happy especially the little rose bush who was full of the bliss of newness having never experienced anything so glorious in his previous life as an immobile, albeit beautiful rose bush in a garden by a lovely home in which resided a nice family. Strangely, the family continued its usual activities of checking the garden, leaving the home to run errands, and eating food appropriate to humans but not appetizing at all to the little rose bush. Yet, he was shocked that no family member acknowledged his new look, almost as though each person considered a walking and touching rose bush to be a common occurrence in the garden. Not only were they oblivious, they also seemed rather rude as they pruned, raked, pulled, and organized the garden.
What had henceforth been accepted by the rose bush as human behavior beneficial to the continued existence and success of the garden, now was invasive and violent. He was a little concerned about this and asked his new friends about it, "Why are those people who used to be nice, attacking our sweet garden and being mean?" His friends the insects said, "They are doing what they always do. It is neither nice nor mean." This answer confused the little rose bush who decided to ignore the humans and the insects and walk around some more touching all the things he could see. He sang a pretty song as he strolled through the garden,
"I am a little rose bush,
With brand new hands and legs.
In the garden I walk along,
And avoid the dirt with dregs.
It all seems rather new,
As I learn about what I see,
I am nervous about the future,
Hope I don't hit a tree."
He noticed that the bunny rabbit had run away and he wondered idly if his voice was unsatisfactory or if he just wasn't a good song writer. Since he had no way to compare the quality of his voice or his song to anyone or anything, he was perfectly contented with it and continued singing regardless of the lack of an appreciative audience.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The Rose Bush--Pt. I
Once upon a time there was a rose bush in a beautifully landscaped garden whose purpose was to provide lovely decoration for the nearby building, a home with a family, a dog, and a white picket fence. All was well in the garden and the little rose bush lived a contented and often pruned life of leisure without ambition, without curiosity, and without fear of destruction. Happy, yes but complete in awareness of what happy really could mean, no, and yet it was an enviable life for it had no knowledge of good or evil, truth or lies, joy or sorrow.
But as chance would have it, there lived a unicorn who, sadly, got lost from his family, wandered off many miles across the plains, which were not really plains but more like rolling hills with many wildflowers, but plains seems to be understood as a general term for the terrain, and arrived in the garden of the home where recognizing the need to relieve himself, he selected a nearby rose bush and promptly fertilized it, left the area, and went about finding his way home. Unfortunately, he never did find his way home but instead made a new life in a cave by the ocean inhabited by fairies who enjoyed sharing their home in the cave by the sea where strangely enough they lived anonymously for many years until their non-physical state eventually took its toll and all of them vanished never to be found nor even acknowledged for having existed.
Meanwhile, back home our little rose bush fell asleep and had a nightmare about a man on a horse who was jousting in the garden and accidentally stabbed the little rose with a long spear. The initial stab was shocking in that it was unexpected and was a new sensation that seemed both wrong and right at the same time and resulted in a confused state not unlike those pruning times that although necessary and beneficial were not necessarily pleasant and inevitably caused a feeling of loss and gain each time. After the shocking stab, the little rose was removed from the bush and began to rise in the air and grew ugly and fat as it looked down on the rest of the garden with undeserved pride and arrogance. In the air, the fat, ugly rose changed color and became gray with scars all over its petals in a suspended state of horror that caused the rose to quake and scream. The aberration began to grow in its core, but also lose its outer covering. Petals began to peel, fall off, and as the thing neared the implosion point, the little rose bush woke up confused but also relieved that it was just a dream, a silly dream at that, not even worth another thought.
It was early but the little rose bush decided to go ahead and begin the day. Each day normally began with the rising of sun, an opportunity to glow as the sun rose and shone on the mystic dew that gently glistened on each petal, providing the rose bush a chance to blush with pride about his beauty. But today, as the rose bush waited patiently for the sun and smiled with anticipation, he realized he had changed. He had grown arms and legs during the night.
Now the little rose bush did not know about the unicorn that had fertilized it during the night. All he knew was that he went to sleep a rose bush and had awakened a walking and touching rose bush. He jumped with joy and began to walk around, gingerly at first, and then more boldly and aggressively, without any kind of sense of tenderness or compassion for the ground beneath its feet. But the newly found legs with feet and lots of toes did not have as much interest as the new hands, hands with 7 fingers and tiny thorns that gave each hand a special strength and an appearance that on any other object would be frightening but on our little rose bush seemed rather charming. The hands were fascinating to the little bush and he couldn't seem to stop touching things everywhere he went.
He began to explore the garden where he lived, reaching out and touching everything he could see. He had never had so much fun, so he sang a little song:
"Life is now so very grand
For a bush that holds a rose.
Attached to me is a hand
As well as 14 toes.
It is all so very fun
As I walk in the dirt.
I look up at the sun
And may I never hurt."
But as chance would have it, there lived a unicorn who, sadly, got lost from his family, wandered off many miles across the plains, which were not really plains but more like rolling hills with many wildflowers, but plains seems to be understood as a general term for the terrain, and arrived in the garden of the home where recognizing the need to relieve himself, he selected a nearby rose bush and promptly fertilized it, left the area, and went about finding his way home. Unfortunately, he never did find his way home but instead made a new life in a cave by the ocean inhabited by fairies who enjoyed sharing their home in the cave by the sea where strangely enough they lived anonymously for many years until their non-physical state eventually took its toll and all of them vanished never to be found nor even acknowledged for having existed.
Meanwhile, back home our little rose bush fell asleep and had a nightmare about a man on a horse who was jousting in the garden and accidentally stabbed the little rose with a long spear. The initial stab was shocking in that it was unexpected and was a new sensation that seemed both wrong and right at the same time and resulted in a confused state not unlike those pruning times that although necessary and beneficial were not necessarily pleasant and inevitably caused a feeling of loss and gain each time. After the shocking stab, the little rose was removed from the bush and began to rise in the air and grew ugly and fat as it looked down on the rest of the garden with undeserved pride and arrogance. In the air, the fat, ugly rose changed color and became gray with scars all over its petals in a suspended state of horror that caused the rose to quake and scream. The aberration began to grow in its core, but also lose its outer covering. Petals began to peel, fall off, and as the thing neared the implosion point, the little rose bush woke up confused but also relieved that it was just a dream, a silly dream at that, not even worth another thought.
It was early but the little rose bush decided to go ahead and begin the day. Each day normally began with the rising of sun, an opportunity to glow as the sun rose and shone on the mystic dew that gently glistened on each petal, providing the rose bush a chance to blush with pride about his beauty. But today, as the rose bush waited patiently for the sun and smiled with anticipation, he realized he had changed. He had grown arms and legs during the night.
Now the little rose bush did not know about the unicorn that had fertilized it during the night. All he knew was that he went to sleep a rose bush and had awakened a walking and touching rose bush. He jumped with joy and began to walk around, gingerly at first, and then more boldly and aggressively, without any kind of sense of tenderness or compassion for the ground beneath its feet. But the newly found legs with feet and lots of toes did not have as much interest as the new hands, hands with 7 fingers and tiny thorns that gave each hand a special strength and an appearance that on any other object would be frightening but on our little rose bush seemed rather charming. The hands were fascinating to the little bush and he couldn't seem to stop touching things everywhere he went.
He began to explore the garden where he lived, reaching out and touching everything he could see. He had never had so much fun, so he sang a little song:
"Life is now so very grand
For a bush that holds a rose.
Attached to me is a hand
As well as 14 toes.
It is all so very fun
As I walk in the dirt.
I look up at the sun
And may I never hurt."
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Finding Your Niche
I could hear the crowd cheering wildly as I once again crossed home plate, a common event for me that summer, having hit a home run and driven in several runs to take the lead, becoming the hero of the team, the leading hitter, and the greatest over-achieving 8 year old in baseball history, at least for that day and perhaps for that entire season. It was a summer of success and monumental meaning for a skinny little kid without much talent.
I was an average player in many respects, a decent fielder, a good arm, good instincts, quick reflexes, alert intellect, knowledgeable on the rules, and a lover of the game with an analytical mind, but I could not seem to hit the ball. At age 6, I began a batting slump that lasted for many years and guaranteed a strike out for the opposing pitcher and the promise of an automatic out for the team with no hope of anything more. I could almost hear the groans from my teammates as I stepped up to the plate, hoping that the pitcher would hit me with the ball (not too hard), or would throw 4 straight balls out of the zone. I was kept on the team possibly for my fielding ability, but mostly because my dad was one of the coaches and besides, when has an 8 year old ever been fired from little league baseball?
The question in your mind should now be, how in the world could I, of average ability, be a successful hitter in an interminable batting slump? The answer is easy, the bunt. I was the bunt king. A slight shift of the body, the bat laid out parallel to the ground, a gentle touch of the wood on the ball, and I was off to first base. What followed was a fielding disaster of major proportions. It was a veritable error-fest to be experienced by all present--players, spectators, and umpires. First was the falling down by the fielder, next the overthrown balls, third the wild yells of different instructions from many people, and last the running into each other as the players scrambled for the ball. All in all a sad but comical display on the field as I ran around the bases to home plate.
The famous bunter, Robert Lee Tucker, continued his unbridled bunting success all season long and into the next year. Although teams did improve their fielding skills by working on throwing and fielding, it remained difficult to manage these skills in the heat of the battle. It seemed that when I squared off for the bunt and everyone ran forward to deal with the situation, once again the next set of events were worthy of the national baseball bloopers award. Unfortunately, as the players matured, the bunt became less successful and with that went my amazing but short-lived career as a professional bunter.
Yet for a time I had found my niche on the team as a valued member, and I belonged as an integral part of the unit, and it felt good. Maybe not respected by everyone, and not exactly the means I would have selected, and my success was mostly based on other people's flaws, and it is a little disconcerting to create humor in what should require a serious focus, nevertheless I found my niche, my role, and my purpose on the team at least for awhile! Out of weakness grew strength and out of flaws grew success.
What is your niche? What role do you play? It may not be what you intended or expected but I believe everyone fills a needed void either in an event, or a relationship, or an idea, or an institution. That niche may change and might be temporary or permanent, and it may be misunderstood or not appreciated, but whatever it is, it is valued by many, making you connected in so many special and vital ways. Find your niche and capitalize on it. Maybe you too will be the bunt king!
I was an average player in many respects, a decent fielder, a good arm, good instincts, quick reflexes, alert intellect, knowledgeable on the rules, and a lover of the game with an analytical mind, but I could not seem to hit the ball. At age 6, I began a batting slump that lasted for many years and guaranteed a strike out for the opposing pitcher and the promise of an automatic out for the team with no hope of anything more. I could almost hear the groans from my teammates as I stepped up to the plate, hoping that the pitcher would hit me with the ball (not too hard), or would throw 4 straight balls out of the zone. I was kept on the team possibly for my fielding ability, but mostly because my dad was one of the coaches and besides, when has an 8 year old ever been fired from little league baseball?
The question in your mind should now be, how in the world could I, of average ability, be a successful hitter in an interminable batting slump? The answer is easy, the bunt. I was the bunt king. A slight shift of the body, the bat laid out parallel to the ground, a gentle touch of the wood on the ball, and I was off to first base. What followed was a fielding disaster of major proportions. It was a veritable error-fest to be experienced by all present--players, spectators, and umpires. First was the falling down by the fielder, next the overthrown balls, third the wild yells of different instructions from many people, and last the running into each other as the players scrambled for the ball. All in all a sad but comical display on the field as I ran around the bases to home plate.
The famous bunter, Robert Lee Tucker, continued his unbridled bunting success all season long and into the next year. Although teams did improve their fielding skills by working on throwing and fielding, it remained difficult to manage these skills in the heat of the battle. It seemed that when I squared off for the bunt and everyone ran forward to deal with the situation, once again the next set of events were worthy of the national baseball bloopers award. Unfortunately, as the players matured, the bunt became less successful and with that went my amazing but short-lived career as a professional bunter.
Yet for a time I had found my niche on the team as a valued member, and I belonged as an integral part of the unit, and it felt good. Maybe not respected by everyone, and not exactly the means I would have selected, and my success was mostly based on other people's flaws, and it is a little disconcerting to create humor in what should require a serious focus, nevertheless I found my niche, my role, and my purpose on the team at least for awhile! Out of weakness grew strength and out of flaws grew success.
What is your niche? What role do you play? It may not be what you intended or expected but I believe everyone fills a needed void either in an event, or a relationship, or an idea, or an institution. That niche may change and might be temporary or permanent, and it may be misunderstood or not appreciated, but whatever it is, it is valued by many, making you connected in so many special and vital ways. Find your niche and capitalize on it. Maybe you too will be the bunt king!
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Ravel's Radiance
It is Saturday morning and I sit here at my computer listening to Bolero by Maurice Ravel and reflecting on the forthcoming events of the day, emotionally encompassing for many reasons, and I place my mind into a loftier world, one without ugliness, despair, fear, or tragedy, into a world of music replete in its grandeur, hope, joy, and energy. Ravel's music is the right sound to create this emotional transformation, this sense that all is indeed "right with the world" (thank you Robert Browning), this need to see things through stained glass windows, and mostly to hold desperately to optimism and promise of better things, beautiful things, and in Ravel's case, beautiful sounds.
Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) was of French descent whose father was a well-known inventor of that time having invented the combustible engine as well as a circus style somersaulting car for entertainment. Trained under Gabriel Faure at the Paris Conservatory of Music, Ravel was committed to and steeped in the classics with emphasis on the precision and craft of Mozart and Couperin. Ravel's extensive study and dedication to musical scholarship was ultimately manifested in great knowledge of each instrument, making him one of the greatest orchestrators in history.
His compositions ranged from chamber works, piano works, to orchestral showpieces, operas, and vocal works. Although considered a leading composer of the "Impressionistic" period--not really a period of music at all, but rather a style of music primarily represented by master composer Claude Debussy--Ravel never felt restricted by one style and considered himself more of a structured, formalized composer with tonal innovations including the use of modes, unresolved suspensions, and layers of harmonies.
Ravel's music was meticulously conceived with strict adherence to his prescribed rules for the chosen language of each particular work. Not unlike Mozart, who rarely changed his mind, or made any errors in his manuscript, or Stravinsky whose fastidious precision comes through in his music in a systematized or ordered manner, Ravel was a very careful and thorough composer who made great intellectual and scholarly demands on his own knowledge, including counterpoint, harmonic depth, other composers' styles, capabilities of each instrument, and potential for colors and sound.
It is difficult to narrow my favorite Ravel pieces to just a few, but for this writing, I want to mention one of Ravel's least favorite pieces which he considered trivial, but one of my personal favorites, Bolero. This marvelous orchestral showpiece was written as a personal challenge to depart from the German tradition of thematic development. To accomplish this goal, Ravel limited his piece to two contrasting but similar themes used alternately and effectively on top of a recurring rhythm pattern drawn from the dance of the same name. The result is an amazingly powerful work that ironically does a form of development in its orchestration and in its dynamic growth. Like all Ravel's music, Bolero is emotionally charged, shimmering in energy, glossy in colorful sounds, intellectual in scope, and gushing in expression. One cannot help but respond to the repetition and continued growth of this work, which some consider the earliest example of minimalism. Yes, trivial in its complexity of thematic usage but powerful in its scope, Bolero remains an audience favorite around the world.
Other great works include the beautiful and touching Pavane, Daphnis and Chloe, Rhapsodie Espagnole, and the two piano concertos one of which is for the left hand only, and the marvelous orchestration of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. The music of Maurice Ravel is magical, beautiful, scholarly, energetic, poetic, poignant, and memorable.
Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) was of French descent whose father was a well-known inventor of that time having invented the combustible engine as well as a circus style somersaulting car for entertainment. Trained under Gabriel Faure at the Paris Conservatory of Music, Ravel was committed to and steeped in the classics with emphasis on the precision and craft of Mozart and Couperin. Ravel's extensive study and dedication to musical scholarship was ultimately manifested in great knowledge of each instrument, making him one of the greatest orchestrators in history.
His compositions ranged from chamber works, piano works, to orchestral showpieces, operas, and vocal works. Although considered a leading composer of the "Impressionistic" period--not really a period of music at all, but rather a style of music primarily represented by master composer Claude Debussy--Ravel never felt restricted by one style and considered himself more of a structured, formalized composer with tonal innovations including the use of modes, unresolved suspensions, and layers of harmonies.
Ravel's music was meticulously conceived with strict adherence to his prescribed rules for the chosen language of each particular work. Not unlike Mozart, who rarely changed his mind, or made any errors in his manuscript, or Stravinsky whose fastidious precision comes through in his music in a systematized or ordered manner, Ravel was a very careful and thorough composer who made great intellectual and scholarly demands on his own knowledge, including counterpoint, harmonic depth, other composers' styles, capabilities of each instrument, and potential for colors and sound.
It is difficult to narrow my favorite Ravel pieces to just a few, but for this writing, I want to mention one of Ravel's least favorite pieces which he considered trivial, but one of my personal favorites, Bolero. This marvelous orchestral showpiece was written as a personal challenge to depart from the German tradition of thematic development. To accomplish this goal, Ravel limited his piece to two contrasting but similar themes used alternately and effectively on top of a recurring rhythm pattern drawn from the dance of the same name. The result is an amazingly powerful work that ironically does a form of development in its orchestration and in its dynamic growth. Like all Ravel's music, Bolero is emotionally charged, shimmering in energy, glossy in colorful sounds, intellectual in scope, and gushing in expression. One cannot help but respond to the repetition and continued growth of this work, which some consider the earliest example of minimalism. Yes, trivial in its complexity of thematic usage but powerful in its scope, Bolero remains an audience favorite around the world.
Other great works include the beautiful and touching Pavane, Daphnis and Chloe, Rhapsodie Espagnole, and the two piano concertos one of which is for the left hand only, and the marvelous orchestration of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. The music of Maurice Ravel is magical, beautiful, scholarly, energetic, poetic, poignant, and memorable.
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