How do you say "Gypsy Abduction Denier" in Sanskrit?

So the weather has gotten cold, sub-freezing for multiple days. I don’t mind one bit, as I am out-of-balance pitta most days…I burn.

So History…I’ve been reading a very enthusiastic work about Yoga, and there’s a lot of history in it…so called. I find a lot of it fascinating, inspiring, but my scholarship is out and I don’t think some of the revisionism in there could be defended. The Vedic history in particular seems frayed and wishful; taking on the gospel that there was a violent invasion that draped an Indo-European Aryan culture from the West over a native people in and around the Sarasvati valley (river long gone, the Indus is closest, misrepresentations everywhere (see below))…I wont go into that, suffice to say there's some archaeological evidence that can't be waved off. Me...a skeptic? Let’s just say you’ll need more than the overuse of “of course” and "it’s obvious that...” to convince me of anything. Cohen’s History in Three Keys…should be required reading at the Jr High level.

The actual written work of the Vedic hymns (that’s what they were) is powerful stuff. The basics are that there are seers (not class-specific), and they sing what they see. They’re not a chronicling device (just), though they chronicle, they’re not art (for art’s sake), though they're artistic, they’re highly spiritual, which means cultural currents can be navigated through them…strange that we don’t get educated about these sorts of things considering the geopolitical and world economic conditions shaping up…we better know this stuff cold if we want to be strategically advantaged when the shit hits the fan in South and East Asia…again. Anyway, it’s arguable that there is a contiguous culture in that geo that is older than any other (yes, even you Egypt), I figure they have some nuggets.

The most provocative inquiries for me are the Western European corollaries that drive folks to some brilliant and/or unsupportable conclusions; seers singing? Bardic. Integral  shamanistic practice driven to self-defending/preserving abstraction by dogmatic religious structures? Church. Even the elements like the Great Cow…? Audhumla.  It makes you wonder if there is a Gypsy form of yoga hiding in the wagon train somewhere; they did reflect from the Indus by most linguistic accounts. Secret Romany stuff I suppose…do you know?

Too Many Mirrors...

Indulging in a lot of introspection these days, time to change gears; one last missive from my brooding then it's on to other things, promise...

...

Sittin’ here wonderin’…why not? Not a logical positivist by training but when Ms Rand says "The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me” (thanks PT)…I have some of that in me and I know what's right, lookin’ for resonance across the air gaps. (Ding!...now that was cryptic)

So I feel lighter (benign restraints, but…), still got strong giri to folks (defines me a bit)…but there’s a lot less for me to factor in my decision–making when I have full range of motion. It’s ironic that the guy with too few boundaries (I get that a lot) has reached a 19-year perigee on limits right here and now. It’s not that I have some sort of fearless/reckless/thoughtless/heedless/selfish/foolish thing a’goin’ on, I just feel like I have been doing well on many fronts working with a paucity (perceived) of options…mo liberty is mo betta…what am I capable of when my future is (feels) closer to tabula rasa than I’ve seen since I went on that commitment tear?

I know the parable of elephant training. Chain ‘em to a stake with no escape possibilities early, over time, they get institutionalized to it; as adults you only need a silk cord to convince them to stay put. Plenty of literary/anecdotal signaling that it happens to everybody if you don’t keep a weather eye out for it, and even being aware can often be of little significance to the process…goes back to the indoctrination issues I have with raising the munchkin. There I have a don’t start nothin’, won’t be nothin’ philosophy, but I’m pretty far past ‘go’ so I don’t think I can count on good-intentions to unwind me. If it’s truly all about the questions we ask, not the answers, then…

Why not? Why not ask for the things that are best for us and everyone we care about? Why not invite and welcome them if it’s all the same? I don’t feel shy/guilty/skittish about fulfilling wants/needs/desires for loved ones if the damage path is light; days/weeks/months/years wasted navel-gazing for the perfect outcomes?…well mythic paradigms are great, but they have to be grounded in best-case reality (which includes a nod to basic human weakness and a serious staring contest with the Great Wolf time). Links to my feeling on scarcity: I’m pretty sure there is more than enough pleasure and contentment to go around. Basically trying to get here:

I'm a little heavy on what I have (there's no stock image for that...am I that far from the herd?), obsessed with a desire or two...need to share...

Holidays and Heart Mechanics

Well, the festive season is upon us. I like it, always have. If you’re a humbug…not my kind, happy holidays.

Not a devotee of classic rock, but like it fine, grew up all up in it after all. Some damn fine lyrics in there (though almost always drowned out by egregious overuse of the hot guitar lick); heard this yesterday on traditional FM going over the river and through the woods when the XM signal couldn’t penetrate the Erisian air flows up top:

And did they get you to trade 

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees? 

Hot air for a cold breeze?

Cold comfort for change? 

And did you exchange

A walk on part in the war 

For a lead role in a cage?

Shit…yes ‘they’ did. That is, I let the seduction(s) take place; I prefer war to the cage, though I had forgotten. Note:  For context,  know that I firmly believe that everything we do is a choice, at all levels of our limited little slice from the environmental to the gap between the synapses…at every level at every moment we choose; as above so below, the Emerald Tablet said so, good enough for me. Anyway, today I looked way back to the most significant pivot point in my life and see that I had a trajectory that was taking me where I wanted to go, seriously working in my role as a bliss-seeking missile...and then got happily blindsided by a pair-bonding urge/instinct/rightness matched to a frothy passion. Ehwaz on full for both of us. Shit…fighting it was not/is not even a consideration, a very good life with loads of happiness and strength available (not always used), and potential for more, is built around it...I'm trying to learn.

Regret is a funny thing for me. I don’t really feel it or feel like it, but I am (reliably?) informed that it colors my decisions below the surface like oil in the Gulf; reliable cause there's some anecdotal evidence that it’s true. My thoughts turn this way: The ecosystem that I was just able to step into and enjoy way back when, that took me years to put together…I just moved away from it, am still moving tangentially to it…and the well-head is cracked. The mirage of clean glassy water, the continuous neotenistic urge to dive deeper, keep exploring, it gets stronger not less...when I stop to drink it’s so cloudy (like this metaphor) with cause and effect...toxic maybe?…and I’m thirsty.

So what now? Lots of choices…course correct slowly on this vector and hope/faith my way forward? Course correct hard and bring the splurt? Both of those have the wrong tone (you're talkin' to my guy all wrong, do it again and...), so maybe something more drastic…more me.

Quantum leap back as far as I can?…I’m watching this one being attempted right in front of me...not my style. Quantum leap out, catch a new gravitational center and orbit away?...collateral damage to some folks I love on that ride (though, I’ll admit it has a glamour upon me...I can shake that djinn, it's a mirage and I know it). Quantum leap up/forward…hmmm, a bit glib and ill-defined, but maybe the best …when I figure out what it means I’ll share.

No Hamlet Here

Trouble...right here in Lake City. I have an interesting job; travel, people, opportunities for the new, cushy expense policy, direct affect on a large portion of my income...sweet. I cover two sides of a mountain range, so I fly regularly, 90 minutes max, breezy...'cept I've been spending more time on the right side than the left, and I live left. Pressure is building for a change; disruptive, especially considering I'm 3 of 3; I'd have to go into serious relationship debt to get sign-off, and the financials will suck it.

Now I'm used to leveraging what I've got to get what I want, and the Sun rises in the East, so maybe a compromise. The company will subsidize temp digs near the revenue stream, and I could just bivouac on the shore a couple of days a week. My hobbies are portable/augmentable over there, so I don't lose anything except in those rare weeks where I don't travel, and the comforts that won't translate. It's not a dilemma, since all options are actually acceptable...note: makes it harder when you win in every direction. S'not been subjected to an even-swaps yet (my methodology for breaking down the tough ones)...more later.

Big deals a'movin, working with IB_ at (redacted) on a nice year-making opportunity, might put me on the boat in the Med next Summer. Work work work work...I'm actually having fun again, I was really more squelched than I thought...chasin' dollars and doin' right ain't got no end. (Name that reference, and win a prize...JTR, you are not eligible). Have stalled out on writing, waiting for a meeting in H-wood in early December to see if I can sell this screenplay. Looks good, but I've been warned that it's always sunny in LA, don't mean nothin'.

Parabolas and Snake Mackerel

Where did we leave off...oh yeah.

So since my last post I went to Charleston, SC, Vegas for another professional event, and Raleigh NC (a regular haunt now). Hands-down favorite was the low country of SC. I stayed in a fortressesque hotel that used to be the Citadel, back door opens onto King Street, no kidding. Seafood is mandated by this kind of  proximity to mother blue, and I got some good tips from the bellman. Went strolling/trawling and wandered down an alley or two, ended up in a place called the Coast. Jackpot. I settled in with my barman (props to John) and asked my questions: What's local? What's fresh?...Blackened Escolar on a bed of little local peas (avec butter, bacon, and chives), damn, but not enough; a seared baseball-sized tuna hunk from the local catch served in a pool of dark, rich wine reduction; different/better than any tuna I've ever tasted (including the yellow-fin in Hawaii)...almost there; bacon-wrapped scallops batting cleanup...all washed down with Palmetto Amber. Um...if you noticed, that was 3 entrées...John was also surprised and I guess I drew some attention...the last dish was hand-delivered by the executive chef.

Foodblogging unintentionally now, but I also had one (and only one) decent meal in Vegas, served family-style (word).  The lineup looked like this:

MGM Grand, Seablue restuarant...it will do.

Nothing of note in Raleigh, hangin' at the Umstead (like this joint, everything quality) as usual. Being in Raleigh so much gets me to thinkin' though... ;-)

Next entry, no food or travel talk, promise.

The Motion of the Ocean

Writing and writing and writing…just not here. Time for a break…

Went on a cruise to the Bahamas last week; on a ship with 2000 people, pressed in cheek to jowl…educational. Among eavesdropping, others’ lack of self-editing, conversations, and amusing myself by making up stories about what I might be looking at, I have some interesting notions osmotically insinuated into my awareness; fodder. Remind me to share a session of “name-the-airport-denizen" sometime. As usual the best stories came from the service folk…honorable mention to Rose from Jamaica, a sweet young Ottowan out on her own for the very first time, Joao the Portuguese maitre’d, and Casius the Peruvian Purveyor of the drink-of-the-day.

I still like the sea it seems. Low-pressure followed us down and we had some chop. Barely felt on the big boat but enough to evoke my sea legs; loved it. Was swayin' and readin' about the habits of successful writers. No surprises, I already have most of that advice canned, though it was good to see it reinforced. The gist: Write…adverbially it doesn’t matter (how, when, where, under what chemical supervision…strangely caffeine (my 2nd favorite) is not recommended by most, though there are devotees), however you can get it done. Fear plays a large role; blocks the flow and spurs the discipline… a two-edged sword like most useful things. Deadlines and reputations; can you crank out a manuscript in the time allotted? Spec scripts are easy, you can take a whole lifetime to write one (if you never want to actually sell anything). Working to contract is where the wannabes are separated from the pros…if I keep writing about this, it’s not a gist any more…thank you to the NSA and the USN for my dedication to brevity.

Unlimbered the bow yesterday, time to thunk arrows into targets till my shoulder screams…tis the season for physicality if I can get out of my head (for me at least, hot days are for fiesta and siesta, not hard work…burnt by too many two-a-days as a tot and too much road-paving as a teen). Looking forward to a long Fall, a short Winter, and sweating my way through.

"I don't think he would say it that way..."

I was just asked if I write outside of a journaling effort. I do. Some leaks out here, but there is also some creating textualized vehicles. For example, I have a screenplay coming together; an adaptation of someone else’s novelized narrative. It’s really not that hard with all the digital tools available; just spill out your story and pour it into the mold. Let it set, show it off…take criticism and be prepared to compromise, cause creating something like a film, well, you have to give everybody their own creative hooks or they won’t play. Don’t set the scene too much, leave room for performance, and respect other people’s art. Some ideas/suggestions/demands good, some bad, all opinion…but it has to be producible or what exactly are you doing?

Producible…there are a lot of considerations I wouldn’t have thought of, thank gods and goddesses for mentors. Performance rights?...don't get me started. It gets harder as you go though. For example, to produce a film, if you’re aligned and partnered with a production company, whether they're attached to a studio or not, you have to take advantage of what they offer. Stock footage, environmental connections, in-the-can relationships…re-use, keep cost projections low, stay away from exotic locations or big effects…at least while you’re pitching. It’s understood that everyone is saying one thing but meaning another, and thinking yet another or two; if you’re not comfortable with that, not your gig. Getting a dose of that early helps, and having a buffer to explain what just happened right after it happens and you’ve totally missed what happened…priceless.

Anyhoo, project one has actually got momentum, and project two, the real love here, will be informed from it even if it’s a miss. The real issue with two is that there is life writing all in it, people and places that are hard to disguise without watering down the creation, the emotional content. So, I’m writing out loud, and I’ll get some editorial help when/if we get to that relationship-altering bridge.

Several of you are invited to the premier(s)…should luck stretch out her hand.

Look Into My Eye...

 Got my eye on something, and it’s not a woman (discovered something special on that edge, out of reach for now) ... tangent: I just realized that I spend a lot of  time concerned with women. It’s a selfish concentration; I've got a monogamous streak though, and I will focus with some deliberation given half a chance. So the down-side?...I get it. 

So eyes on things that are explicitly for me? Selfish to the nth for a while? Sure. Once upon a time I was very self-contained, just one ball on the table bouncing into others...not sticking; rolling together, caroming, careening, sometimes a loud crack, sometimes a light touch with a little English...now? I’m trying too hard, and it shows. My best self, my highest self, is obligated to family and friends, particularly the Pea...but that’s it; obligated to be my best self, not to try and evoke their best selves, or care one way or another if they are trying. It makes precious little sense for me to attach myself to a wishful future that I author without consent. It’s almost always true that folk that I like are ones that prefer to write themselves.

So eyes on a prize for me, a developmental step that I have looked at since I was small, and stood away from cause it’s hard work and discipline, it’s limiting focus, showing up every single day, sweating the details, caring about outcomes, exposing my lacks. Need to stay in-bounds though...I just spent way too much money on an experiment (round 2 actually, totals are near $15k) reaching forward to another such developmental goal, one I am far from ready for. Let’s just say that academic rigor and I are estranged for the foreseeable future. It's rigor that I want to demonstrate though, so something rigorous is required. I know what it is.

Tactics: first, build the damn foundation. I always try to skip that if I can, jump forward, excel/accel quickly. This thing I want won’t allow that though, and I think I actually get that for the first time ever. Second, attach and progress with words in parallel. I tend to talk my way in and out of things, I'm facile, but this is not a word thing, it’s a doing thing, so give my words their outlet but don’t cheat the system. Lastly, don’t create/define/imagine/excuse due to obstacles. Seriously, in strong, in long, don’t quit. Start every day, start every day, start every day.

Good mantra, let’s see if I am who I think I am.

'The Life'?...not quite what I expected

Geez, busy. Got a screenplay under development, working a doctorate, and work is blowing up. Put that together with my need to overhaul my personal life and overcome the obstacles to happy endings there…and I need a drink.

Was down in Ft Lauderdale a few weeks back, wound up spending some time at the hotel bar and met some really nice folks. At one point I was the referee between a large group of gay guys on my left (they adopted me as a mascot I think, I haven’t been ‘cute’ in a long time), and a rowdy bunch of trade show ladies on my right. Had a couple of interested parties on both sides…awkward! Fun though, and eventually everyone scattered to the four balmy winds of So Fla. Learned a lot over two nights from the guys, flighty things, one smart one though. When Spain came up, and was touted as the place for the gay scene in Europe, we tangented over to a discussion of Franco and fascism. I think he was a little starved for solid conversation.

 

My best (and only) allies in the place were my barmen. Mauricio and Nacho. Mauricio was the elder stateman, and Nacho can charm the paint off the wall. Mauricio was tasked by some nice old lady to come back to her with an espresso martini, which he dutifully did. I saw it, and had to try one. Uh, not good.  Nacho detected my dissatisfaction and proposed some modifications: less coffee, more sugar. Much better, quite a pick-me-up knock-me-down sort of drink. The Nacho Martini lives, and I'm due back in October for round 2.

Sin City and Good Libations

So its been a few. In the interval I've been to Vegas, met some interesting people, tried some new recipes for drunkenness, and surfaced some truth.

Vegas...trade show...'nuff said. I met someone out of the ordinary though. We went right ahead, dropped guard, and talked story for a bit about our current relationship obstacles; we both got 'em. She's engaging and authentic...something unique in her I think. The conversation: much candor and quiet insight...moving; am glad to know she's walking around...a very pleasant surprise when I was writing the whole trip off.

She also turned me on to this: take a Corona, drink off a bit (you will forget this step at some point in the evening), pour a shot of Bacardi Limon in, press the ubiquitous lime wedge home, invert to mix. I think it's called a Loaded Corona. Not bad.

A woman of Cheek I occasionally speak with  (way past appreciation, but nowhere to go...I would sigh but I get teased when I do) detailed to me a while back an alcoholic creation dubbed by its creators 'the Chupacabra' (there are others, mostly fruity, forget them), so I also had one of those served up while I was out and about: A Bloody Mary made with Tequila, garnished with beef jerky...I have it on good authority that bacon will also do. Sounds a little off? Try it you big baby.

And then came cancelled concerts and bad reactions. You work hard to do the right thing and sometimes it works (i.e. outcomes positive and appreciated)...sometimes not. I want to put my past in the rear-view (have places to go), but principle and upbringing have me governed...stuck in 2nd gear. That's how it often seems to be with men; suspended between our desire and our honor; honest values sure, but voluntary chains still suck. I am surprised at how few women I meet recognize/accept/understand that (some get it/live it); I'm finding it's certainly a common masculine reality, a near constant among good men when relationships are sputtering.

Anyway, stretched thin trying to be a better man...and bummed that Neko Case cancelled her Summer tour after I had wrangled primo tickets in a great venue.

Local Goods

Last day of J. Caesar's month and I’m soon drivin’ to my local farm cooperative; Loretta Lynn’s daughter’s place, she has a very cool rustic kitchen (huge space, and you can hose it down) where some superlative baking goes on. I'm stalking the fresh blueberry/plum pie,and I have intelligence that there will be some in-area this mornin’. Seriously…yum. I’ll picture if I get one...

(83 minutes later...)

La victoire à tarte!

And natch I couldn't resist the heirlooms, peppers, fresh eggs, the apple pie (Hi, my name is...and I'm a pieaholic)...support your local farmers.

Listenin’ to some KTT on the way down; she hits me in a soft spot.  She was in my neck of the woods last week shooting a video and sampling fried catfish amidst many a Faulknerian scene. The travelogue of her foray into the wilds of Mid-Tenn on her Facebook page had cheek, she (or her ghost-booker) captured some local flavor (21 - 24 July).

My last post of the month anchored to my favorite Scot in ‘Hold On’…framing some of my thoughts with a little license:

Say you to me
You're a bird with an eye for anything shiny
Searchin' the land
For a hero of a woman
You say I need
More than my fair share of attention
But I think you know
That just isn't so

Underneath, I felt the fire of a burning question
Tearin' me apart
Right from the very start
And now I see
That it don't take a trick of the light to excite me
So strong
So long
You'll see

Simplicity
A heart of gold, an old head, and young shoulders
Quiet and lovely
Becomin' part of me
And now I see
From a handful of names and a thousand faces
One light, burnin', furiously

Hold on
To what you
Been given lately
Hold on
To what you know you got
Hold on

To what you
Been given lately
Hold on
Cause the world will turn if you're ready or not

"I know those words, but that sign makes no sense." - Lisa S

So a woman who turns me on to wise and clever linked this Randall Munroe comic over to me yesterday ( http://www.xkcd.com/771/ ), it made my day. It has a rollover that reads:

 "The same people who spend their weekends at the Blogger Reenactment Festivals will whine about the anachronisms in historical movies, but no one else will care."

Rolling chuckle, still smilin'. Thanks Cheek-a.

Had mostly given up on chasing portals and taking feeds, but I lost myself on xkcd catching up with a lot of funny and poignant. Maybe I gave up too soon...

Too much junk

'Gadgets' by Mark Fiore

Not into technology for technology's sake, and don't like mindless consumer use...if it doesn't solve a significant human problem (i.e. something useful better/cheaper/faster), it's part of the noise not the song. A friend of mine trained as an economist once led me to the well of Bentham and Mill’s wyrd...Utility...and I drank the Von Neumann-Morgenstern kool-aid made from it.

The Zookeeper

In this memetic menagerie you may have noticed that logical consistency hasn’t shown up yet. Warned you. Anyway, it might be polite if a few more signs and guideposts are added.

Your adult years are framed by education. You have a lifelong affair with it, which sometimes gets torrid when your curiosity slips the leash. For example you get a big buzz reading about science and math. Pop-wise though, your grades in college attest that you never had the want-to rigor to make it a vocation, and never heard the empirical call to arms. You find that social sciences, strategic studies, and language come more naturally to your makeup (but you balk at classifying any of that as 'science'; none of the principles in there hindcast or forecast consistently, reproducibly). Your academic promiscuity eventually leads you into a tryst with the mercurial mistress History; you are smitten, you submit to her discipline, but she’s cruel and demanding, materially all take and little give, so you press-gang yourself to honorable work and leave her on the dock for a practical education.

If the Navy discovers you’re facile with language; you’re pretty. They find out you’re clean enough for all-the-compartments clearance; they like you. They discover that you can lead, follow, and manage; they’re in love.

Vocational training is the stock and trade of the services and you’re slated to be seconded to NSA from the get-go (many masters). Eighteen months of schoolin’ later you go to work against a ‘target’; knowledge as a weapon applied through directives designed in a context of military, socio-economic, and political strategies. You pay attention and you thrive. Note: that work is hit or miss on precision and accuracy based on luck, and how well you can work the elements of the intelligence life-cycle (John Keegan’s walk-through):

• Acquisition – sigint for you, collecting mid-v los traffic is a bitch, check my cant, uh!
• Delivery – Er…can’t talk about that
• Acceptance – vetting; the data, the collection, and the operator
• Interpretation – the distillation, sometimes nothing left when you're done
• Implementation – issues of tempo, no preservatives added

So, there’s your sluice, pan, and sift; if you have a nugget that's still useful at the end of that, you win. Often it's just GIGO writ large on the world's big white board...you had your share of being critically right though, and you like the mission. Shadows to the fore...your wiring has changed permanently (again) and you see information everywhere; unintended consequences to come.

At a significant tipping point the community starts implementing full-scale digital transmission and storage of the vast information stores you use (vs. heavy dependence on venerable reel-to-reel magnetic tape systems), and you get heavily involved with that effort (changed the world a little in the process, you get a medal) ...long story short: you begin what will be a long-term career as an information technologist. This should be no great surprise considering you’ve been hobbying and tinkerin’ with computers since you were a tot, but it is. Material needs call, service ends, and you take your skills and perspective to the marketplace to see what they're worth.

Whew. Enough for now.
 
 

Wolf Cub Dilemma

From the Wiki: A dilemma (Greek: δί-λημμα "double proposition") is a problem offering at least two solutions or possibilities, of which none is practically acceptable. One in this position has been traditionally described as "being on the horns of a dilemma", neither horn being comfortable, "between Scylla and Charybdis"; or "being between a rock and a hard place", since both objects or metaphorical choices are rough.

So you’re born into a family that isn’t what you’d call spiritually deep inside country-Protestant territory. Somewhere between fundamentalist wildlings and Episcopal restraint…you know, anywhere BFE. Church is a place, a social construct, but god(s) doesn’t actually live there. You’re not forced to go (much), cause you’re the boy and you follow the masculine script of the family. The father wasn’t church’d…he grew up on a farm under a sadistic male lineage that probably didn’t feel comfortable with moral yardsticks (unless they were beating the kids with them). So on Sunday mornings you fish, you shoot, you explore, you read…a lot (the big break with the family tradition…danger Will Robinson!). You grow up comfortably independent in the physical world, spiritually feral and open-minded; about a half a normal local product and…something else. You socialize like a native, but one of these things is not like the others.

Flash forward to now and you’re driving home from the capstone performance of your little one’s vacation bible school experience; lots of kids singin' and dancin' in a space-themed program, periodically screaming out “Praise God!” It’s your sister’s church, a laid-back loving place with lots of family, and you expose the daughter to it for socialization and the fun kids have together no matter what adults are about. Apparently no one there has any sense of stage direction or child-friendly tempo, but the songs were catchy. The science included was actually closer to mainstream instruction than you would have expected until it was suddenly and inexplicably linked to some biblical precept; not bad but there is much correction to do.

Much correction…you’re multi-culturally mythic in the house, and ensure that everyone under the roof puts the same weight on most of the vehicles of moral and ethical instruction that are exposed, though perhaps not on the instructions themselves (extremes are out). You’re consciously growing an adult here, and tolerance and cultural respect are high up on the list of capabilities being funded. There were elements in that kid's program that you don’t agree with, and you are pretty sure they apply a myopic lens that once on is hard to take off. It’s indoctrination, which you understand and accept as part of the reason you let the girl go; she needs to have common cultural reference with the folks she's going to be around, but you want a bias-neutral posture, strength, and unassailable independence in the focal fundamentals of the tyke. Today you’re concerned. Concerned that even though you plan to parse the lessons learned with her and to unwrap the motive, creed, doctrine, and rhetoric, she's getting mixed signals about the sacred (or no signal, an ambush), about the cost of submission to dogma.

Kid gloves off? Some of what she learned this week seems slavish, hubristic, and anti-empirical (not non-empirical, I mean against reason) to me, all anathema. It exposes a real dilemma: How can you be certain to engender faith, community, and a sense of connection to the divine that will serve to protect and comfort when the decisions matter and the hard rain falls, without hobbling the mind? The wolfling road I trod is fraught, and I don’t wish it on my progeny.

Not sure.

Bermudiful Days

Belated Travelogue --

Bermuda…what can I say about Bermuda in the Spring? I loved it, it was close, and jumbled, and beautiful; terraced coral-color painted tumble-down architecture pressed up against crystal blue water and rocky ‘scapes. For fellow history geeks of the nth order I’ll say that crawling around huge colonial era forts built from a peculiar native limestone, peeking through gun embrasures and crossing moats guarded by grape-shot loaded cannon was a visceral thrill. Another shut-my-mouth opportunity just laying around was a near-full sized replica of a caravel-like ship that is full access for poking around and feeling below-decks geometry; a model representing two real vessels built from the cannibalized wreckage of a larger version by survivors of a locally famous shipwreck episode.

For the higher brain functions the colonial military facilities have also been converted to evocative museums, and the Commissioner's’s House was one of the most impressive presentations of the past I’ve ever immersed in (Victoria, BC’s National museum is another of note). The trusts that built it all are very very proud, particularly of their sailing history…there is an odd fetish with their national bird.

Food-wise…uh, I don’t mean to perpetuate a stereotype (English food is…) but the food was lackluster. Combined with the simple fact that local edible resources are not particularly diverse, that kept the palate pointed to standard fare that was flown in from elsewhere. There were some mussels that were as plump and perfect as I’ve ever had, but had to go to a roadside Italian joint to find 'em. No worries though as I wrangled a top-floor bivouac for the trip, which included complementary breakfast, snacks, hor’dourves, light dinner, cocktail goodies, and evening sweets served like clockwork throughout the day…every day, on-time…decadent. Nothing like walking down the hall and piling a sampling of goodness on little plates then heading back for a private balcony repose. The little local if-you-can't-get-it-here-learn-to-live-without markets also kept a decent liquor supply on hand…so reasonable.

Highlight…scooters. The narrow left-lane roadways were made for scootering, so I rented what I came to know affectionately as 'the Hog'. The traffic rules and governance are simple and practical, and it was liberating and comfortable getting from one end of the island to the other on a cheap (don't tell the Hog I said that) little bike. Things get crowded near the cruise-ship infested capital (though it is cool that the big ships could come right up to the quay), but were peaceful along the winding, rock-wall lined byways that make up most of the roadnet (if you get claustrophobic or agitated with informal road rules in tight spaces, not your scene). Ridiculously difficult to get lost on such a small island, and the one time the map had to be extracted and pored over a local espied the situation and U-turned his scooter (you will get scooter-envy if you rent, the natives buy some impressive bikes) to pop over and provide a nifty shortcut.

That really was the most memorable thing about the place. I would swear that the term laid-back was invented for the people on this rock. There’s a strong ethnic population (including a disproportionate number of Portuguese -for the whole story see the Commissioner’s House…but be prepared to feel something if you internalize the slavery exhibits and the stories of Boer war POW’s interned there…didn’t see that coming), but none of the tension a US Southerner is bred to. At no time and in no place was there a feeling of tourist predation danger. The locals reported that there are some problems; drug economics due to the Caribbean back-and-forth for example, but it felt really safe, and folks were happy to see your scooter-helmet headed self coming through the door.

Big Fish, Pink Fish, Fried Fish, Good Fish

Ok, I like to cook, I like to eat; Cooking is much more fun, but I eat what I make so the real gastronomica esoterica is right out. That doesn't stop the exploration though, and that's moving into a new phase that is all about cooking like the Chinese do. Wait one...tangentially, I don't like the term 'Chinese food'. You can hardly bound their cuisine with the illusory meme 'Chinese'...it's the equivalent of saying 'European food'. Anyway, I recently got that wok up there straight out of Guangzhou (via some nice folks at the Wok Shop in San Fran...Grant Ave, that's legit), seasoned it just so...which leads me to:

So I went to the Fresh Market yesterday and picked up some fresh shitakes (from Arkansas, cool) ginger, scallion…and a big-ass red snapper, whole. They were just putting it out for sale from the truck that had just come from the airport. It was clear-eyed, red-gilled, and smelled great...the best a landlocked fella can do for la perche rouge. I had my monger scale it, clean it, and use some tin snips to chop out the gills (bitter)…then off to the liquor store for sherry.

Long story short: I salted it, scored it, garnished it with aromatics, sprinkled it with sherry, dredged it in flour and cornstarch, and deep fried it Shanghai-style in my wok. It did not suck. A lot of fish and hefty on price (it was banquet-ready, very pretty though I did lose the tail, clumsy gwai loh), but I was experimentin’. I can move down to fresh freshwater breeds with good result I suspect; trout I think, plentiful and not quite so devastating to my wallet…though I’ll miss that big-fish cheek and chin meat.

Clippity-Clop

I was asked by someone I like what my joy for the day was a little while back. Well the day before I’d had my share, and as my joy is wont to be it involved my little one. She's a budding equestrian, but on the day in question she was slated to be on an unfamiliar beast, one that she knew by reputation as a not-for-the-faint pony named Cowboy. There was joy in the outcome.

Earlier in the Spring she had heard the tales of his sometimes compulsive need to gallop at his own direction, and he has thrown experienced riders. Diminutive, but strong; she's ridden bigger but nothing with Cowboy's spirit. When we got to the barn yesterday her teacher told her to go get Cowboy ready; we both did a double-take, but moved down the stalls.

As we walked past the tack room one of the young interns (stables owned and operated exclusively by females) asked us what we needed, and I repeated the instruction. She was also surprised, and double-checked the schedule. Sure enough, Cowboy was on-tap. At this point the munchkin's wheels are turning and she's brave-facing it I can tell, but once he's on his side ropes she goes through the combing and brushing rituals like everything is A-ok, picks his hooves and helmets up.

I walk away when she's under almost any kind of instruction at her request; she has performance anxiety associated to me for reasons I sort of understand...not completely, but I do have expectations. At the barn, she's under expert instruction and I walk away.

I loiter outside near the ring listening for any sounds of distress, but a half-hour passes with only benign whinnying and blowing from some very warm animals (it’s June in the jungle after all). When I went back inside to the ring and peeked around the corner I saw miss priss trotting by, posting perfectly, looking out where she should...and grinning ear-to-ear As it turns out, when he's behaving, Cowboy has a beautifully smooth gait that matches the girl's rhythm. He's solicitous of her on his back, and she is riding as well as anyone has ever seen her. Afterwards, she led him back to his stall with such confidence in her gait, glowing, that my heart went puh!

My joy lasted well beyond the two scoops of Baskin-Robbin's best creamy treat (jamocha is her current obsession) I sprung for afterwards.