Suddenly Snow

Last weekend’s snow was…a surprise, among other things. 24 hours before I snapped the photos below, all you could see was brown grass and black pavement. Since these were taken, we’ve received another 6″ or so…and the city’s running out of places to pile the stuff!

The Fog of War

That well-known phrase referring to the confusion and uncertainty common during a battle seems like it is not unique to the battlefield. I grew up in a military family, and have memories of the occasional soldier or sailor going off the deep-end, usually injuring property and themselves more than anything or anyone else, but sometimes an unlucky few who happened to be close by never had the chance to regret it. But nothing like the mind boggling events that unfolded this last week at Ft. Hood.

There is no question that military service at the front is a dangerous business, and things happen that aren’t always explainable. I find it ironically that the Ft. Hood tragedy happened in the same town that decades ago had the horrible massacre at Luby’s, in a time before Texans freely carried handguns. I remember vividly the argument that had people been packing, someone might have stopped or reduced the carnage during that tragedy in a Texas cafeteria. Now we have this recent horrific event that defies us to make sense of the why, the how. Of all the places you’d think someone on a rampage would have little success, it would be on a military installation. Yet, amidst all that training and weaponry, no one was armed initially. One wonders if firearms as de rigueur will be the norm on bases in the future. I’m not pro-gun by any means, just sense the irony at work.

Bob Greene’s CNN column lays out the challenges brought on by the Fog of War, the likely progression of the days following, and the intense interest in learning who the slain were, their comrades, and a renewed appreciate of what these young men and women go through. But why, oh why, does it take the senseless loss of life to awaken the American psyche like this? Why are we systemically deaf to what we’re doing to our young (and not so young) citizens? How many Americans really understand the damage that’s going on by repeatedly sending our patriots back to the insanity with little regard (or a sense of intentional ignorance) to the mental damage?

Wars are sadly a fixture of our history, yet modern warfare seems to be pushing our mental capacities to cope far beyond what’s humanly possible to handle. Or is it just that such sensationalized media reporting make it seem unusually so? I believe many a Vietnam vet would argue that the mental damage from that senseless engagement is no different than the post-trauma stress syndrome that’s getting more and more publicity.

In conversations with my father about his wartime and military experiences before he passed on, he believed back then his generation served with a purpose, that everyone believed in the cause behind the war. Fast forward to 2009 and it seems not many of us consider the why of what we’re doing over in the Middle East as reason alone to go blindly into the Fog of War.

Enjoy the Last of the Color

My favorite time of the year is drawing to a close. Winter is about to replace fall’s multi-colored coat with a drab, grey blanket. This year was especially colorful in Northwest Ohio, yielding vibrant reds and yellows in every direction, and seemingly timed to turn at the same time. A good year for fall colors, which old timers are telling me means a snowy winter. Oh boy oh boy. Winter wonderlands are a close second in my book to autumn colors. Don’t mind the cold if there’s a white blanket everywhere.

The NaNoWriMo Cometh

October is all about pumpkins and pretty colors. Come November, our thoughts turn to…30 crazed-filled days scribbling nonsensical sentences in a quest for 50,000 words, a modicum of sanity at the end, and that elusive brag: “I wrote a novel.” Oh, and something involving a bird and cranberry sauce happens that month, but never mind that, focus on the writing!

This year will be my fourth voyage into the world of daily word counts, banning contractions, and breaking all the rules for crisp, succinct writing. For those unbapitized, NaNoWriMo is short-speak for National Novel Writing Month, and annual event held since 1999. My first dipping came in 2004, where I’m proud to report I cleared the bar with 51,700 words that will never-see-the-light-of-a-publishers-pressroom, but hey, a goal met is a goal celebrated. If you’re feeling voyeuristic and want a glimpse of the madness such an endeavor breeds, read my celebration post. And if that didn’t bring you to your senses and you still want to have a go, I wrote about my takeaways a week later after my fried brain cells were replenished.

I tried again in 2005, thinking I’d start with something more structured than the 18-word sentence I launched with the previous year (yes, one can create an entire plot in those few words…at least, if your target audience is the NaNo). Spending a week prepping a five-page outline, multiple character sketches, the usual stuff, I thought I’d really take NaNo seriously…and promptly bailed out after about 10 days. Too much structure for NaNo? Perhaps.

2006 brought a third attempt, this time a plot paragraph (yes, as in MULTIPLE sentences) of a book idea, but the fates intervened via the passing of my father that November. Few things can deter a determined writer during NaNo, but that excuse certainly qualifies.

So now, a couple years removed from my three-year NaNo servitude, I’m ready again. Armed with a NEW idea, one not too deeply prepared, but one with serious intent, I’ll charge up the MacBook batteries, load up the iPod with tons of Hearts of Space recordings, and head off to the dozen or so coffee shops I’ve targeted to get me through the month. Nothing brings a smile to writer’s lips, hope in their heart, and that unbridled passion that writing with a purpose brings. Won’t you join in? It’s free, fun, and safe (don’t worry about the months of therapy that’s bound to follow…think of that as research for future NaNos).

It’s All About the “O”

Obama… Osama… Oprah… Overstock.com… Obsession… there’s lots of famous “Os” in the world to muse over.

But, of course, I’m talkin’ about ORGANICS! (And where was your mind, dear reader?)

In a world of plastic and pharmaceuticals, preservatives and pesticides, I am progressively going organic. Fortunately, organics are fashionable, therefore local markets carry a lot more than they used to stock. I’m old enough to have gone to college when and where the mighty Whole Foods Market had their meager beginnings. Back then it was mostly hirsute hippies and willing wannabes hanging out in the original Whole Foods Market, a modest bare-concrete-floor, rough-made-wooden-shelvies, foreshadow of what was to come. Organic wasn’t a buzzword back then, but the practice of nurturing whole Earth and eating clean was well underway.

Without going into the politics of organics and the open-ended argument that big-farm organic isn’t as healthy as localvore organics, I’m just happy there is more variety and reasonable prices than ever before. With terrific tools like this iPhone app and the uber cool companion wallet card), I can channel my inner hippie and decide when it’s all about the O and when it’s not.

random past musing: Heigh-Ho

As the little dwarfs are wont to sing, “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go.” Except it’s just me…and I’m not singing nor whistling…but alas, I am off to work. Bummer.

Today I go back to the office, back to the salt mine, the grind, the 9-to-5, the whatever-passes-as-a-nickname term for one’s day job. After sitting out over a month, it will be nice to slip back into the old routine, but I have to admit my brief dance with retirement life was mighty tasty. Some benefits I’ve experienced in the last thirty days or so:

* No-alarm mornings – I’ve heard of people who live like this but never thought I could wake up without an alarm to nudge me into the world. Amazing.
* Slower days – Without the usual full day at the office bookended by a pair of weekend days partly spent doing the errands I couldn’t do during the week, the days progress more slowly. Nice.
* Drive-time commutes? Fuggetaboutit – How nice is it to be still in jammies and sipping coffee at the breakfast table while listening to bad traffic and weather reports? Oh yeah…
* No dry cleaning – No office time, no dry cleaning. Sweet.
* Stigmaless days – When you don’t work, there’s little difference between Tuesday and Sunday. Monday loses its dread, but Friday doesn’t have that feeling of release after a long work-week. Still, a good thing.
* Leveled happiness – For the last month I’ve been happy every day, instead of the usual up-and-down nature of a typical work-week. Very cool.

Of course there are a few negatives, but the only one of note is the obvious: at some point bills must be paid and the allure of being workless thus comes to a grinding halt. But overall, given the chance, I’d figure out how to survive days into weeks into months into years of doing what I’ve done over the last thirty days. In the meantime, however, I need to finish writing this, do my exercises, then get ready and go off to work, whistling optional. The only real challenge this morning is not getting up, but making sure I leave for the office a little early…just in case I have trouble finding it.

Picture taken at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art from their excellent display of late-medieval period (and beyond) armor.

random past musing: Going Postal

Like many youths, collecting stamps was a cherished hobby. Back then stamp collecting was still a respected pursuit for both kid and adult alike. I’m not so sure in today’s society of fast video-game thrills and Internet-everything that stamps draw as much interest as they once did, nor in the numbers the hobby once enjoyed. And like many kids both then and now, collecting anything was a great diversion from the stresses of…well, now that I think about it, back then stress was pretty much nonexistent or rarely mentioned. But the tactile thrill of carefully handling, grading, and hinging (or sleeving) stamps, not to mention the treasure-hunting thrills finding stamps in grandma’s attic or an uncle’s box of letters from WWI or WWII was an enjoyable way to spend time wisely.

I stopped collecting back in my single 20s when I bartered my last collection (U.S. airmails, complete at the time except for the rares and the Graf Zeppelin series) to a painter to studify my condo. I thought that a “wow” decor would impress the chicks more than an album of stamps showing mostly old dead guys. I’d love to share whether that worked, but better not since my Mom reads these posts!

When I collected all U.S. stamps, however, the ones that held my interest the most were the old engraving styles illustrated well by my favorite series, the Columbian Exposition issues of 1893. Today’s commemorative stamps are certainly informative and remind us of our varied history and significant citizen’s celebrated achievements, but while I appreciate some of the topics and artwork, they don’t say “postage stamps” like the old engraveds did.

On a trip to the local post office on Monday, I was pleased to discover the new commemoratives released in May honoring the Lewis & Clark expedition. The design combines my beloved engraved look with some excellent color portraitures reminiscent of early 19th century portraits. I bought a couple sheets of the big stamp, but my post office was out of the portraits. And least you think I’ve suddenly gone all serious, I also bought a sheet of the Dr. Seuss stamps. After all, I need something with a bit more levity to affix to those damned bills I love to mail.

random past musing: Dancin’ With the Deadlines

Every writer faces up to that cruel taskmaster, the deadline, by using unique ways to deal with (or avoid) the myriad of problems that struggling towards a deadline seem to bring about. When you think about it, “deadline” is a really negative word. Reminds me of “dead” fish combined with a “line” in the sand…an ultimatum (which after all is what it really is). How much easier it would be to think of deadlines as goals instead, a much more positive way to spin essential the same thing.

At the end of each year, we all go through the same truly silly exercise of establishing, then promptly ignoring, new year’s resolutions. The best intentions combined with the worst process usually results in consistent results…as in, not much changed except perhaps a brief flurry of “feel good” vibes for the few weeks after we each convince ourselves that this year will be different, this year we’ll see those resolutions through to completion. There’s a word for that which also happens to be the noun for the pile of odorous waste found in a bull’s pasture. As Peter Drucker said, “Plans are only good intentions unless they immediately degenerate into hard work.”

Success with a deadline or goal is usually achieved through small victories rather than one big battle (the new year’s resolutions approach). And small victories made often enough will compound to bigger ones, eventually resulting in new paradigms resulting in an improved process to set and acheive deadlines or goals.

For myself, I always work better with a defined deadline in place. Writing projects tend to be organic in nature, yet I seem to need the sense of that projected closing date in order to manage my time and do everything I need to do. Every time I’ve taken on a writing task with the well-intended requirement of “whenever you can get it done,” I never seemed to be able to get it done, at least not until refreshed by the setting of a real deadline. And I’ve found that if I set the deadline it doesn’t work unless I set some tangible rewards (or penalties) for performance.

So how does all this relate to goals? Simply that goals are by nature essentially deadlines, and can be treated the same way. You wouldn’t take a writing assignment due in 30 days without immediately sitting down and planning the tasks compared to the time available. And so you shouldn’t assign a goal without the same preparatory dedication and loyalty to some type of schedule designed to achieve that goal by the desired target date. (And you are assigning a target date to all your goals, aren’t you? If not, they’re not really goals, just wishes.)

Anthony Robbins once said (paraphrased) that you make a life change through one of two reasons: either perspiration or desperation. The same reasons are usually why goals are won: either by sweat and hard work, or after you’re finally desperate enough to want to make it happen (extreme motivation). For me, a long-procrastinated goal was to lose weight down to a clinically healthy body, partly to feel better, but also to resolve some growing health issues we all face eventually as we age. I can’t tell you at what point things finally clicked to make me get serious about shedding the weight, but part of the credit goes to my Dad via his role model as a survivor of a quintuple-bypass heart operation. Needless to say, bells and whistles went off in my head after that event. A little voice whispered, actually screamed, it’s now or never.

To help me keep focused on some of my goals, I’ve posted three of them on the side margin here at inkmusings, partly in hopes of embarassing myself into improving as the weeks go by. I’ll be indicating weekly progress, both in quantities and whether I’ve improved, fallen down, or stayed lazily the same via the small symbol indicators after each goal. These are not my only goals, just the one’s I’m willing to cut open a vein and bleed for in front of my blog readers.

random past musing: Blogdar

When you can tell whether someone is gay then it is said your gaydar is working well. And certainly the civilized world wouldn’t function as well without radar revealing planes, ships, and storms we couldn’t easily see or sonar pinging an assurance that something is (or isn’t) there in the murky ocean depths. Now say hello to blogdar.

I’ve cranked out a lot of words blogging which apparently has transformed how I look at the world. Like an avid photographer who constantly carries camera on strap and snaps pictures of seemingly everything that moves (or doesn’t move), I’ve lived similarly vicariously through my viewfinder, always hoping to capture the essence of life yet missing the real moments. I’m sure I’m not alone in having vague memories of vacations spent watching my holiday pass before me through the camera’s lens.

Like the trusty radar and sonar, my blogdar (that hidden sense that tells me if something is blog worthy) is up and working well. Ever looking for what’s blog worthy, I’m rediscovering that empty feeling from not experience the moment in the moment and only becoming aware of it through reading about its blogified essence. Bummer. My blogdar seems addicted to scanning for moments that elicit a child-like “BLOG FODDER!” yell from my right brain over any situation that seems worthy of being transformed into words (or lately into all-too-easily-posted digi-pictures). Not that that’s wholly a bad thing…an obsessive one perhaps, but not as bad as knocking over banks or taking lollipops from kiddies.

But all is not lost for there is a cure for blogdar: NaNoWriMo! Nothing like the absurd challenge of forcing a 50,000 word novel out of thin air (and even thinner plot) to confuse my blogdar. Good news? Not really: blogdar off, novdar on. Sigh. Now I’m watching people interact and thinking, “Could my character act that way? Would he be that much of a jerk? Of course he would…” Thus now I’m transforming the moment into the trashpit of my NaNoWriMo novel instead of my blog: hardly an improvement but at least it’s a shift that stretches my mental legs.

The affliction of blogdar and the temporary madness of novdar are obviously sad examples of someone who needs a more interesting life, but they both support the theory if you focus on something enough it consumes your thought like an eight-year-old eats a birthday cake. Take the classic example of car shopping: If you’re in the market for, and consistently obsess and drool over, one special car you may suddenly notice a preponderance of those models on the road. Did your mental energies and hoped-for cosmic influence suddenly manifest more forest-green Mazda Miatas? We tend to see what we focus on and little else. We’re creatures of distraction and for all the evolutionary mental prowess we humans exhibit, we are simply a product of these distractions.

Here’s another, more impressive, example of this focus/perception concept: Go over to this site and watch the Flash movie. While watching, count how many times players wearing white shirts pass the basketball. That’s all you have to do: count the number of passes between white-shirted players. When you’re finished, go here. (Courtesy of Ming the Mechanic.)

It’s not surprising then that a blogger consumed with the blogging process would sooner than later develop good blogdar. With so much information flooding one’s senses, attempting to distill all of it via one’s blog would be a maddening existence. Instead, we train ourselves to look for blog fodder that falls within our blog interests. Unfortunately this becomes a bit obsessive and thus we can become minions to our blogdar. Sorry, but I have to go now because my blogdar is sensing blog fodder in the havoc I’m hearing from the kitchen and I must go investigate. It could be worse though: my novdar could have gone off instead and my son and his friend immortalized forever inside a really bad novel.

random past musing: What’s In a Name?

Everything, apparently! With all due respect to Mr. Crapo (or Ms. Crapo for all I know), I’m not sure I’d use my last name in conjunction with the insurance business. Not exactly the right sort of association that instills confidence for prospective clients.

I found this sign on the way back from dinner in Terre Haute, Indiana. I’m actually in one hotel for two nights in a row, a rare treat on this whirlwind trek through the Midwest. The odd thing is that Terre Haute lies on the western-most edge of Indiana’s EST zone. So essentially I’ll be leaving the hotel in the morning at 9 a.m. to make the 30-minute drive west (and into CST) so I can arrive on time for my 8:30 a.m. appointment. Weird.