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On Thinking

This is a meditation garden I drive by almost every day. No one is ever there. On that rare occasion when I walk past, it remains free of “peoples”. When passing on my road bike? Same. I find myself meditating on that…but not there. I am miles away.

The one place, by design, asking me to do one specific, focused thing: “think”…and I drive right by; Only to do that exact specific, focused, thinking thing – about that one specifically designed place – at ANOTHER place. That defines irony.

A lot of mental jumping jacks and hoopla-verbiage in that-there paragraph to make a point. We don’t just complicate our lives, we over-complicate our lives. Run here. Run there … and don’t stop anymore to think. To just meditate.

I’m writing this after a day that started at 6:00 and didn’t stop until 6:00 this evening. Non-stop activity. Literally. Teaching, selling, moving, shopping, planning, etc…that’s today. An EASY day by my standards. Tomorrow is full. This weekend is busy…The month is filling up. On and on. And. On. Seemingly year after year…

🙋🏻‍♂️Guilty.

I choose this for myself. My decision – just like my decision, day after day, to not stop and sit in the meditation garden.

We are ultimately responsible for where we choose to not sit. Why we choose to not meditate, not think about our life choices, not act in accordance, possibly, with our purpose sometimes.

What designed gardens did we see and pass up because they were too inconvenient at the time? What person did we not talk to for a few minutes because of our hurried-ness? What friend needed us … and we just …. couldn’t … find the time?

Look, I’m just a simple guy who likes to be very busy with my music, dawgs, and writing. Simple as that. Give me 24 hours and I’ll fill them up quicker than you can say, “Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in again!”.

I don’t have any answers. Our world is so different. So active. So connected. So alive. So engaging. It really is hard to not want to be a part of everything going on. In the enticement of the chase, however, the prize fades. By not paying closer attention to simple thinking, we may get to the end still wanting more complicated things. At that point, what’s left? Nothing. Again, ironic. Out of place and time … thinking.

Maybe that’s the message in the garden? I probably won’t know unless I take the time to sit my active cheeks down on the unwell-worn slats on the bench in the garden. A few minutes there … not here …. thinking upon these things may lighten the load a bit.

For now, if you see me there as you pass by…join me. We’ll chat. It’ll be nice to be with a friend for a few minutes. We can talk dinosaurs, chocolate, Chopin, quadratic equations, the downside of quantitative easing, pottery, diesel engines (yeah, right..like I know anything about these🤔), anatomy, ….. or, we can simply watch birds poop on expensive cars. Your call. Anything to break up the busy-ness of life. We’ll meditate on the simpler things in life.

Let’s meet. An unscheduled rendezvous of sorts. Allegheny and Union. Hollidaysburg, Pa. Bring bug spray – they have no brains and they’re annoying.

Hondas are Probably Odd

    Let’s get the math out of the way. The difference between “probability” and “odds”, according to google, is:

    PROBABILITY- “The probability that an event will occur is the fraction of times you expect to see that event in many trials”

    ODDS- “The probability that the event will occur divided by the probability that the event will NOT occur.”

    Adding a third: “chance”.

    CHANCE- “The hope that someone reads this blog (🙄🤣😉)”

    Anyway, I love math. Always have. Quadratic equations fascinate me as much today as they did in school. I loved math tests. Hated history. Disliked English. Loved music. Woodshop? Don’t EVEN go there! …. ah, yes. School. No real girlfriends except,….maybe…

    So, anyway…back to odds and probabilities. I didn’t crunch the numbers concerning this “happening” today that unfolded in my small universe of a life. No time. I did, however, enjoy a few moments outside the post office today.

    What are the “chances”? (playing it safe here)… Maybe at some future time, I will put pen and paper to use, call my old math skills into service, and begin to postulate, propogate, and propose a probability. Until then…

    ….At 10 am, I found myself with a fine older fellow outside the local post office. He was leaning up against a silver Honda, smiling his way through the moment. Catching my eye, he said, “Is that your Honda parked behind this one?”….and then the fun began.

    Not realizing I, too, have a very similar silver Honda, he continued, “I’ve been waiting here to meet the owner of that Honda. You see the silver Honda parked behind this one?…I mistakenly got in that one thinking it was mine. The door was unlocked, I sat down, saw it was dirty and couldn’t figure out how my car got so dirty all of a sudden…and then said to myself, ‘oh crap I’m in the wrong car’ … so I wanted to meet the owner”.

    I’m not sure why(?) he wanted to meet the owner. If it was to mention the soiled nature of said automobile, THAT wasn’t going to go well. However, considering the common sense nature of this man, I think he just wanted to say “hi” …

    …and feel the joy from the story he eventually told me.

    I couldn’t believe the odds, probability, or chances. I had to tell him that MY similar Honda was parked across the street in the lot. He was talking to a guy with a third silver Honda – same body style, probably same year.

    As well, the 2nd owner….of the 2nd Honda..in the 2nd space so close by….STILL was nowhere to be found. (Actually, “probably” watching the whole episode from behind the bushes and was too embarrassed to show…).

    So, two guys having a good laugh. I eventually left because the president called to get some advice on the tensions in the middle east…and I had to take the call. Ever since Batman retired, that is.

    The nice fellow stayed. Waiting. Waiting to share his nice story with Honda owner #2. As I drove by a few minutes later, he was still there. I pulled over to ask if I could take a picture. He graciously agreed. As I drove away, in my rear view I saw him gently get in his car, resigned to having never met Honda owner #2. He was happy. I was happy. Owner #2…who knows??

    What are the chances? Three very similar Hondas in the same place at the same time? Odd, isn’t it? Probably! I don’t know, really.

    Doesn’t matter much…the math, I mean. As much as I love math, when the universe drops these little moments into my lap, it all adds up.

    ..

    Kelly

    Well, here’s a new one. The new check out at Sam’s is: cart to one side, member to the other. Kinda simple process if you’ve been there lately. I think I understand the logic behind the change. More self-check outs to use, but my order sizes usually require help. So, last night…off I go – with flat-bed.. – to register #3(?) ….
    One employee empties your cart/flat-bed while another scans. I get it. This is a daily thing for me….sometime 2x per day. I zone out. Usually think about why there are so many rings around Saturn, why my shoe laces are uneven, why the man two lanes over is waaaay shorter than his girlfriend/wife, or why I’m even thinking about anything at all….
    And then there’s Kelly. Who (or, whom?) I never even knew until last night. Ah, yes. Kelly.
    The process begins. Member card. Check. Beep. Followed by multiple beeps. I casually glance at product ….after product….after…..product…af..ter…p (hey why IS he so much shorter? She’s wearing a vertical striped shirt which makes her look taller than she is … maybe he’s not THAT short?)… rolls, cheese, rolls, sausage, sausage…on and on and ….wait!!…is that….Jalapeno Artichoke Dip?….
    Suddenly I see hands lunging across my sacred Sam’s club space in lane #3. Uh oh! On the video receipt I see JAD appearing along with cheese sticks (not mine either). Panic. Aisle #3. 8:15 PM. Sam’s Altoona. Apparently, the next order of Kelly’s has mingled with mine …. Oh no!!
    Well, not really. Two employees. One really tired, but well dressed (ahem) piano player – hot dawg salesman jammed in between two events, coming from church buying a cr*p load of supplies …. and Kelly. Ah, Kelly. Keeeelly.
    Finally loaded up. The extra diet coke rung up by mistake since taken off my bill, rolls finally organized in such a way to satisfy my OCD, and the short-dude-tall-chick long since gone, I find myself face to face with ….. Kelly, and an unpaid bill. And a decision.
    She says, “Oh, you must keep the JAD. It’s delicious! I don’t know you (no sh*t!)…do you like cheese sticks??”
    “No (God, no)”
    “But, I will go get another JAD for myself. You must keep (by default, PAY) that… it’s really good!!”
    “Ok, I will…can I pay now? I hate artichokes, by the way…”
    “Doesn’t matter. This is great dip.”
    “If it doesn’t matter, then why not call it just “jalapeno dip?”
    Kelly:”?”
    Cashier: “?”
    Me:”?”
    So, long story short – I leave. Only reason I know her name? In the process of walking away from the register, I saw her card come up on the display welcoming her in the system.
    Ah, Kelly. Thanks for the laughs. And for the Jalapeno Artichoke Dip.

    Be

    I had to tell a young someone to be quiet…
    and immediately thought about what I said.

    In the context of being, “be” is an extraordinary word. It’s often used as part of a motivational phrase…be happy, be yourself, be YOU, or the most profound: just be.

    Even single words we say including the syllable “be” – become or belief, for example – are wonderful.
    What do you want to be? Rather, what does your “be” look like?

    Ask a child… their answer will include “be something”. ..fireman, nurse, Spiderman.
    Ask a terminal cancer patient – after years of unsuccessful treatment, and they want to “be free” to go. Ask Shakespeare … and he’s no freakin’ clue: to be, or not to be..

    I figure “be” is whatever you need it to be. A dream, a way of life, a reflection, Batman, co-worker, or dear friend.

    Living as a be-ing isn’t easy at all. It is, however, always about new be-ginnings… creative and well-thought out ways to “just be” in a world where being quiet is the best place to be.

    That’s what I want. For you. For me. Let’s be “be” together.

    Mom. Simple.

    This is my mom.
    She’s gone. Miss her today.

    For some reason more than many yesterdays since her passing in March of 2012.

    This is my favorite picture of her.
    Smiles, joy, happiness.
    Simple. So simple.

    How easy life was at Disney for her.
    How difficult it was for her – six years later – the day she learned of her cancer.
    How comforting her journey through the five years of treatment – to the day of her death.

    Her daily mantra going through chemo, surgeries, sickness, hair loss, depression, anger: “Today is my new normal”
    Her final words to me moments before passing: “Don’t watch me die.”

    It wasn’t about her that last moment she spoke.
    She was being mom.
    Protecting me.
    Then gone.

    I miss her today. A lot.
    I know why.
    I loved her.
    And still do.
    Simple.

    Great Friends

    My grammarly-leaning friends will quickly notice the error(s) within the quote inserted in my picture above. And, by no coincidence, in the sentence I just wrote prior to this one. Both end with the dreaded prepositions “from” and “above”. Oh, no!! I did it again!!… My most sincere apologies. I’m sure I will be forgiven. That’s what friends do, right? Normal ones, anyway. Good, wholesome, be-there-in-a-pinch-for-you friends.

    I want to write about the step above friends. The ones who surprise us with amazing insight, show us our errors through our gifts – not our faults, and ignite our hopes. They are the one-among-the-many.

    Where do they come from?

    The easy answer is a physical location. Across town, another city, state, or county is always possible. The “smart”, so obviously comedic reply is “a mother’s womb” (waka waka). I’m more interested in the philosophical question……really. Who…or what sends an awesome friend or two to us?… Where DO they come from?

    I’ve experienced great friends in the past. Still do to this day. They fascinate me. I value them more than almost anything else. I feel no discomfort telling them … truth is what truth is…

    I do ask questions, though. I always will. It is hard for me to just accept. I ask the “why?”….

    I am built to ask “why?”

    ….or, in this case “from where?” ( see, grammar sticklers?…I do know!!)

    Why do I ask, “from where does a great friend come?”. Because, recently I had a conversation with a great friend. Through that, I found part of me I never knew existed. That’s why.

    Short answer to “from where?”……”I don’t know”. Probably will never find the answer. I doubt in the search, if you would care to join me, we would never as well. It’s a mysterious place. All I can figure is fate has a hand in guiding the right one-among-the-many into our lives. That extra special great friend -who helps us see our better self no matter what – comes from the imagination of the unknown. And with someone so special by our side, we can overcome …

    …no matter what we come up against (oh, man…I did it again!)

    Calling the Kettle Awesome

    I have a friend, Scott, who operates a Kettle Korn concession stand. I’ve known Scott a long time – mainly through another hobby of mine. He is the manager of a bowling center where I first met him years ago. Full circle…. neither he nor I were “concessionaires” at that time, but now we are. Two men. Two foodies. Two decent bowlers (I have 5 perfect “300” games …. he has a ridiculously high amount more)…but I digress.

    His Kettle Korn is awesome. His bowling skills are awesome….and he’s a really cool guy.

    Anyway, where is all this going? If you read my blogs or FB posts with any regularity, you’ll find my brain to be deeply engaged in philosophizing, or pandering to the pun world. There never seems to be a middle ground. This blog may be my break through!

    Imagine that? A “normal” conversation with you, my own self….and all the extra voices in my head.

    So, back to Kettle Korn. It’s standard fare at a fair. Easily priced and almost always available – but not always good. Scott’s is, however. I’ve had others….and then there’s his. The difference? His kettle has years of seasoning baked in…age, experience, wear, stories,…Each popped kernel is flavored from the past.

    ….and that’s the lesson for today. Nothing deep.

    Each day of our lives is a kernel popped from a well seasoned, aged, experienced kettle. It’s simply that simple.

    Thanks, Scott.

    Bonded Stories, Forever

    “Bonded Stories, Forever”

    “It was the convergence of almost three-thousand individual stories with our own. Ours continued forward from that day. Theirs did not.

    Tears, remembrances, memorials, new buildings, flags, ribbons, blogs (including this one), draped with honorable intentions, can’t mask the horror all of us experienced. Horror that most certainly – most assuredly – pales in comparison to the terror felt..

    …Deep within the towers of the ill-fated….making desperate pleas for help, final calls to loved ones, and prayers for salvation.

    …Deep within the hearts of men, high above in the big blue deciding when to make a life-ending decision for all aboard. Taking on the monumental charge forward, through the cockpit door, into the hands of fate, finally coming to rest in among the peaceful fields of Shanksville, Pa.

    ….Deep within another plane headed for the Pentagon. A five-sided fortress of military symbolism fated to be target practice for radical warriors destined to complete a mission of misguided justice. A plane. A building. Both nurturing innocence – innocence unaware of what was to come.

    …Deep within the hearts of all the first responders who gave their life that day doing their job….who pushed forward in their heroism.

    And then the day ended.

    Our individual stories continued forward from that day. Theirs did not.

    It was on that day when our moments came together, our rivers of dissent merged into one ocean of tears, and we said good-bye to almost three-thousand souls who didn’t deserve to die on that calm, sunny, beautiful September Tuesday in 2001.

    We remember them. All of them. In our forward moving lives, each step we take should be a small remembrance of the steps they were not given. Each small glance to stars a reminder of the children they did not see grow up.

    And each – and every – moment we feel something deep within, it is a bond forever felt with a day, a moment, a convergence of three-thousand stories with our own.”