Not Just Another Journey

…the journey started like any other of my monthly NY-PA journeys, during the winter months:  snow in the air but clear roads. I’ve done this drive one way almost 200 times; back and forth monthly since March 2006. That would be over 6 ½ years, 80 months, 360 miles a trip for a total of 57,600 miles, and I’m being a little conservative in my estimate, since there have been a few times where I’ve done the drive twice in a month. The drive is mainly four-lane freeways, and I general follow one of two possible routes, outlined on the map below.

The “green” route is my preferred route – less traffic and more scenic, as it travels through the hills of the southern Finger Lakes in NY and the mountains of Northern PA. The “yellow” route is my “poor weather route”, as it is more heavily traveled, and along the NY Thruway and PA Turnpike, which generally plows and salts their roads with more frequency than the other State DOT-maintained roads. I’ve resorted to the “yellow” route maybe 30 times out of the 200. The difference, time wise, between the two is just about the same – the drive takes 5-6 hours in good weather and traffic. The longest one of these trips has taken was 8 hours, back in 2009, in the spring when I was caught in accident-delayed traffic not once, not twice, but three times on the same trip.

In the winter months, there are several factors that go into which route I take, and whether I go at all. Thanks to technology, I can get real-time road conditions and accident reports on 511NY.org and 511PA.org. I won’t travel a road that is already snow-covered for a significant distance, where the temperatures are below 25 degrees, at the time I am ready to leave, and I won’t travel a road that is expecting several inches of snow during my drive. In the past 80 months, I have had to cancel the drive twice, and I have driven on snow covered roads, where it wasn’t accurately predicted or shown, three other times; those times, the accumulation was light. I do travel with a winter-emergency kit that does include an extra blanket, a shovel, salt, jumper cables, flares, etc. 

An Additional Thought On The Newtown CT Tragedy

The Newtown CT story, and the related conversations, are still front and center in a lot of minds. There is a lot of dialogue out there, and as I’ve declared in the past, dialogue for the most part is good. I hope that the dialogues that are occurring lead to positive change in all of the directly and indirectly-related topics of conversation.  In my opinion, the best source of healing after something like this is positive change; some sort of validation that maybe this event could possibly mean something besides pain and suffering.

So, this morning, I woke up at 5AM with a series of recollections below, about an event that affected my family. 

When I was eight, my dad introduced my family to his the family of one of his co-workers. This family consisted of a mom and dad (my dad’s co-worker) and their four year old son. Soon, the families spent a few evenings together in the way that play dates used to be:  the adults all hung out together in one room with their social time, while all of the kids played in the other room. 

Growing up with two sisters, I was very excited to have another little boy to play with. For me, this boy was like the little brother I didn’t have at the time. I have a specific memory of an old wooden toy train set. I had started to out-grow that set. My parents convinced me to give that toy to him, and he instantly loved it. I remember playing with that toy train with him, and even at that young age, I remember feeling a little proud that I gave something of mine to someone who thought it was special. I don’t remember how long our families spent together; but I don’t think it was more than a year.

One fall night, my dad came home from work, and said we needed to have a family meeting. He proceeded to tell us that this little boy and his dad were killed in an accident; they were hit by a drunk driver. I have seen my dad cry only four times in my life – that was the first. We all cried for what I think was a half hour; maybe longer, maybe shorter. I vaguely remember my parents trying to explain death, and what it means, and it was all very (expectedly) difficult to deal with. I don’t remember how long things seemed empty, or how long it took for life to return to routine, but it did, as life inevitably seems to do. 

Fast forward ten years:  I came home on a college break, and when I walked in the door, sitting on the couch was this boy’s mom. I hadn’t realized that she had eventually moved to Michigan, but on this day, she was back in the area, visiting old friends and the grave site. I do remember that there was a local newspaper article (which I made a copy of and still have to this day) discussing what had happened, and between reading the article, and the related conversation with her and my parents, I found out that the story was even more tragic then what I (and my sisters) were told ten years before. 

The tragedy was not that they both died in a car accident. The father kept him out of school and drove to Atlantic City.  After a day at the beach, they checked into a hotel, and when the boy fell asleep, the father killed his son with several stab wounds  He then stabbed himself, but was not able to fatally.  The next morning, he drove back home, where, by that point, the mom had gone to police and a search was underway.  The police recognized the car, and they were taken to the hospital.  The father did have a fake story to tell, but soon ended up telling the truth of what happened and turned himself in.

I was stunned.  But once I read the article, it was back to the conversation in my parents' living room.  The mom then talked about the healing process, and how it led to her teaching in an elementary school, and starting to do some very important and inspiration work with kids. The whole point of her story, and I believe her visit, was how she was able to turn such a tragedy into something positive and real, and it was, and is, an inspiration story that needed to, and needs to, be shared.

And that stuck with me, from that moment in 1991. And that resurfaced this morning in the wake of this recent tragedy. The two tragedies have some similarities, and some differences, and I don’t want to get into a listing of those.

So, in thinking about writing this, and trying to double-check my recollection, I found where she wrote a kid’s book dealing with this tragedy, and a related interview with her, in the magazine of the college (Northwestern College) where she received the Distinguished Alumni Award in 1991 for Distinguished Service to Humankind. The links are below.  I’ll let the interview tell the rest of the story and speak for itself. 

BUT...tragedies happen and will continue to happen; it’s unfortunately a fact of life – a harsh fact that I wish didn’t have to be the case. It’s what we do with those tragedies that can change us and help us get to a place where, in moments like these, is hard to imagine being possible. 

• Link to the Northwestern College interview:  http://classic.nwciowa.edu/summer2008/transcript 
• Amazon.com link to her book, Forever Friends: Amigos para Siempre (Volume 1): http://www.amazon.com/Forever-Friends-Amigos-Siempre-Volume/dp/097416111X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355840794&sr=8-1&keywords=Christina+McGrinson

My Thought On The Newtown CT Tragedy

As with most people, as the events of this tragic event began to unfold by way of the various news reports and the ensuing conversations, tweets and Facebook comments, I found myself initially stunned at what I was hearing. Soon after that initial pause, I had a single thought, which is still crystal clear to me, but in my opinion seemed to be an under-current at best in this story. That single thought is compelling me to write.

But before I get to that – first and foremost, and even though this may go without saying, it still needs to be said – my sympathies go out to ALL that have been affected by this. I struggled with this as a part-time parent (and I say part-time, as I am 5 ½ hours away from my 5 ½ year old son), going through all of the what-ifs that naturally come out of an event like this. I did call my little guy, and it was comforting to hear his voice laughing away. Fortunately, he was unaware of what happened; my ex-wife decided to keep it that way, and I agreed. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be a parent in that school, and I won’t try to guess.

Now, onto my single thought...

December - Month Of Giving? Or Giving!

My last five posts were about the month of November being declared the “month of thanks.” I’m surprised that no one has declared December as the “month of cheer”, or the “month of good tidings”.  It seemed like a good idea to me, when that idea hit my brain, so I decided that maybe I should start it. I figured, maybe one post a week, for a total of four posts for the month of December, should probably do it.

Well, it’s December 13^th. Two weeks in. No posts.

And it’s not that there isn’t anything to cheer about, to be glad about. This is the time of year where people start giving “in the spirit of the holidays”. This is the time of year where random groups of people appear seemingly out of nowhere and start singing, as I witnessed in the Williamsport, PA Panera Bread last year, and as I witnessed in the (Rochester) Skyway this week. It’s the time of year where random acts of kindness are much less random and much more prevalent.

BUT…I find myself fighting this pull of negativity that occurs at this time of year.  I have to ignore the whole political-correctness debate about whether one should use the word “holidays” instead of the word Christmas. WHICH – my stance is this:  anyone who says “Happy Holidays” has good intentions and is trying to be safe, and can’t that be enough? Who gets offended by good-intentioned well wishes? Or the even worse, the poor-attempt-at-humor catch-all Christmakwanzakah?

November - Month Of Thanks: Days 19-30

In my daily virtual roaming in the world of Facebook, a few people have taken part in what I think is a growing tradition or trend:  during the month of November, the month of Thanksgiving, people are taking a moment each day of the month and state something that they are thankful for. 

Well, it’s December. I did well, at first…four posts covering 18 days, and I actually was ahead of schedule. And then…

…I took a vacation. (#19)

November - Month Of Thanks: Day 18

In my daily virtual roaming in the world of Facebook, a few people have taken part in what I think is a growing tradition or trend:  during the month of November, the month of Thanksgiving, people are taking a moment each day of the month and state something that they are thankful for. 

 

Here is the fourth post.   This is a topic that I feel deserves its own separate post. 

November - Month Of Thanks: Days 12-17

In my daily virtual roaming in the world of Facebook, a few people have taken part in what I think is a growing tradition or trend:  during the month of November, the month of Thanksgiving, people are taking a moment each day of the month and state something that they are thankful for. 

Here is the third post. The groups of people below all have chosen a profession that either saves lives, helps lives, shapes lives, or inspires lives, with a significant level of personal sacrifice of time, and the sacrifice of chasing fame and fortune and glitter.

 

Disclaimer:  By no means do I mean to exclude professions from this list, nor do I mean that any professions that I do not list are any less important. In fact, I welcome anyone to add a comment below to list other professions they are thankful for – the longer the list, the better we all are as a community.

November - Month Of Thanks: Days 6-11

In my daily virtual roaming in the world of Facebook, a few people have taken part in what I think is a growing tradition or trend:  during the month of November, the month of Thanksgiving, people are taking a moment each day of the month and state something that they are thankful for.

 

Here is the second post. I think you’ll sense a theme here…

November - Month Of Thanks: Days 1-5

In my daily virtual roaming in the world of Facebook, a few people have taken part in what I think is a growing tradition or trend:  during the month of November, the month of Thanksgiving, people are taking a moment each day of the month and state something that they are thankful for.  So, without further ado:

This Fall (Creatively Speaking)

I’m afraid.

I’m scared.

Everything around me is falling.

Leaves are falling,

rain is falling,

dark is falling,

trees and lives and the sky itself is falling.

Each day is getting colder, and colder,

and darker and darker.

Summer is just a memory. 

A warm memory of a warm time,

when sunshine ruled the skies and our hearts.

And I know the seasons must change,

And after winter must come spring.

But this was a muted fall.

We were robbed of our final colorful splash,

our last glimmer of hope that we can hold on to

and take in that final breath of scenery,

then squeeze our eyes shut

in some sort of hibernating state of denial.

But denial about what?

Is the world going to end, in December?

Based on some ancient prophecy?

Or maybe the world is going to end this week,

at the hands of Mother Nature,

stirring her witch’s brew of weather;

like a Halloween-inspired Frankenstein-ian

concoction of drowning rage.

Is the world going to end?

What do I do?

What do we do?

I’m afraid.

I’m scared.

Everyone around me is falling.

Stumbling, screaming, crying.

Falling.

Summer is just a memory. 

A warm memory of a warm time,

when sunshine ruled the skies and our hearts.

And I know the seasons must change,

And after winter must come spring.

But this was a muted fall.

Those screams and cries

seem to be stifled amongst the prophecies

and doomsayers and empty promises,

that come with ghosts and ghouls and

the fog,

and the full moon hidden then revealed,

by the ever-moving clouds,

and the hauntingly-howling winds.

The winds of change.

They always come this time of year.

They signal the coming of the end.

And yet, before we reach the end,

Before we reach the harsh cold of winter,

We give thanks; we celebrate thanks,

We give gifts to each other,

We turn unselfish,

We celebrate, eat, drink, and be merry,

(even if there is an air of cynical commercialism),

once again I’ll try to focus on

the deeper meaning,

the true intent,

and squeeze my eyes tighly shut,

in my attempt to block out the negative,

in some sort of intentional state of positivity.

And in the end,

we’re not at an end,

for every end,

is also a beginning,

a new year,

then a new spring.

For I know the seasons must change,

and after winter must come spring,

even if this was a muted fall.

There will be a new colorful splash,

our next glimmer of hope that we can look forward to

and take in that new breath of scenery,

then open our eyes wide open

in some sort of awakening state of joy.

And I’m no longer scared,

And I’m no longer afraid,

I just have to make it through the rain,

and the dark,

and stand tall.

It's Time To Talk About...Time

I had someone ask me the other day a question about the way I spend my time, and it made me think. Actually, I should state that in the present tense; as it’s still making me think. The question was specific to the time I spend alone, when I am out and about, roaming and exploring and sometimes just being. And the question, which I am paraphrasing, was, “when you’re spending your time in that way, would you rather spend that time alone as you’re doing now, or with someone?” For me, it’s a fascinating question. My first immediate answer was, “with someone.” Then, my second almost-as-immediate answer, when I thought about some of the things I do, was “well, no, alone.” Then, when I took some time to think about it, I think I ended up with an “it depends” kind of answer. It depends on how I was spending my time, and where I was spending that time, and who that someone would be at that time, and what frame of mind was in, etc., etc., etc., but sometimes it would be nice to have someone along for the ride, but at other times it’s nice to be alone. 

Well, now I am spending some time thinking about…time. Maybe it’s about time I wrote a post about time. There’s no time like the present, eh?

What is time? 

More Conversations

Free writing:  what’s on my mind?  I apologize in advance if this post ends up twisting and turning more than one particular road I drove on earlier today. It was a rainy, grey, gloomy, cool fall day as I set out to, well, just to. I set out to.  When I left home this morning, it wasn’t raining, but showers were in the forecast. 

So, there I was, driving in the rain, windshield wipers going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The music of choice – even that wasn’t a choice, as I had my iPod on shuffle. BUT…it was set to shuffle on a playlist called “Recently Added.”  Over the past three weeks, I’ve probably swapped about 100 songs out of my collection of 1,200, and there seems to be a definitive mood. I’ve added a lot of Stevie Wonder, Sade, Jill Scott, and Frank McComb - soul artists who write very deep and meaningful lyrics, and also pay attention to how their music composition interacts with the lyrics.  And in listening to deep song after deep song play, something hit a chord with me. (Yes, the pun was intended.) Those were songs of heartache and heartbreak, of struggle, of pain. But there were also songs about love, about life, about living and aspiring and achieving Higher Ground. Uplifting songs of hope.  Those words spoke to me, as if the artists themselves were in the passenger seat, speaking to me.

Maybe it’s the function of the small world I live in right now, but it seems that we’ve lost our focus on love and life, and living and aspiring. It seems we’re caught up in reality TV and replacement refs and negative political ads…and money.  Those who have a lot, we’re mad that they want more. Of course, we want more. Or need more. Both, really. Who are you voting for? Who are you voting off? I’m so tired, not enough hours in the day to meet all the demands, complain, complain, complain, compare, contrast, sink deeper and deeper and withdraw within ourselves and become closed and…

...stop sharing. 

A Rare Moment On A Sunday Night

There I was…this past Sunday night, 10 PM; full moon, cool air, music playing, open road, not another car, or house, or anything in sight. I was in the middle of one of those moments that are rare, that comes along as a surprise and if you’re not careful, it could disappear just as fast and unexpected as it came. 

 

Earlier in the day, I saw a link on a website about a “Summer’s End” festival at one of my favorite State Parks, Letchworth; the self-proclaimed “Grand Canyon of the East.” The link spoke of a couple of local bands on an outdoor stage, food, and fireworks at 9PM. I’ve been to this park probably ten or so times in my five years in Western New York, but always in the early afternoon – never in the evening, never at night. 

 

I had plans earlier in the day, that had a moving target of an end time, so left my decision on whether to go up in the air – not unlike the 25-or-so balloons that launched all within a half-hour period, the evening before at the annual New York State Festival of Balloon – coincidentally the next small town south of the Grand Canyon (of the East). As it turned out, my plans ended at 5:30, and without really consciously deciding, I was on the highway, headed south to Letchworth.

One hour and fifteen minutes later, I reached the south entrance of the park – the farther entrance, the entrance I normally use. That entrance is where the entrance to the gorge is situated, near what is known as High Falls. My memory (on a day where consciousness had slipped into a nice relaxed state), threw me a curve ball. There was hardly anyone at the main park area in that part of the park. But at this point, it was 7PM, I was hungry, and the concession stand was open, so I ordered a nicely typical burger and fries, went outside to a lonely picnic table, and ate in solitude.  The sun had already set behind the ridge overlooking the gorge, but it had not officially set on Western New York, so I was sitting in a dark shadow with a fading blue sky overhead. In peaceful solitude. And it was here that I felt the beginning of something special, something rare. 

Metaphorically Photogenic

“A picture is worth a thousand words.” - unknown

Photography, at least in the way I would describe my interest in it, is:  the art of capturing life in specific, single images; freezing a single moment in time and preserving that moment to be shared to various audiences. 

But there is so more to a photo, and photography, than the art of a series of frozen single moments. 

Photography for me has been a hobby since I was in my teens. Over the years, I “dabbled” in film photography but financially, I wasn’t able to really develop this hobby, until digital photography took a serious hold on society. The ability of learning by “trial-and-error” was made much easier when I was able to just delete “not-so-good” shots, instead of “wasting film”. I’ve never taken a photography class, either at a college level or at a community level, but as I started taking more pictures, I’ve purchased a few how-to books which have definitely helped me learn different techniques and “things I can do to get the results that I picture in my mind.” So, my explanations below are at best somewhat technically inaccurate. SPOILER ALERT:  I’m headed towards a bigger point than a high-level photography lesson.

Driving In New York City

I’ve driven in New York City – specifically Manhattan – four times, all between 1996 and 2006, all as a tourist. It is, by far, an experience all to itself. It’s not for the faint at heart; to me driving in NYC is about 95% immediate instinct and 5% luck – or maybe vice versa. With all of the traffic - cars, buses, taxis, people, and bikes – hundreds and seemingly thousands of them, all trying to get somewhere as fast as possible and even sooner, impatiently, it’s a ton of input to take in, in the various split seconds you need to make a decisions. Where do I need to turn? Three blocks ahead, I mean two? I can’t turn left here? Now what? Three rights? I can see the building I want to get to but I’ve been in this car for 45 minutes now, going the wrong way and then the right way, closer and then not closer, and then…

…GRIDLOCK. The worst experience in my opinion, if you take out accidents (which I did not have any) and near misses (which I’ve had a few), is gridlock. When you’re sitting in your car, totally surrounded by all of the above, and nothing is moving. Nothing. Stopped. Standing still. Not even a hint at movement. And there’s nothing that can be done except to wait. And wait. And wait for something to happen, something to free up somewhere so traffic can start flowing again, so I can get to where I want to go.

WELL…that’s where my blog has been. Mental gridlock. There are several places I want to go. I’ve started down a couple of streets already. But…I’m stuck. Trapped. Surrounded by hundreds of competing thoughts all trying to get to where they want to go first. For all of my road rage tendencies, one area where I don’t suffer from road rage is being stuck in traffic. It’s inevitable. It is what it is. (You may have seen me write this before.) So no, I don’t have blog rage either. (Although, I’d hate to see what would happen if I did suffer from blog rage.) But I haven’t gotten out of the car yet. I have no plans to abandon it in the middle of the street, to walk aimlessly towards my next stop.  

I’m just sitting in my car. My mental car. Blaring music. Probably making a fool of myself singing along, loudly, way off-key, doing some steering wheel drumming and playing air guitar in the driver’s seat. Waiting for something to happen, something to free up somewhere so traffic can start flowing again, so I can get to where I want to go. Waiting…

Waiting…