All Those Faces

In Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, Shunryu Suzuki wrote that "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind there are few." As with the start of every new semester, my mind tends toward the beginner, the person who is optimistic and energetic, the teacher who hopes to transmit at least a bit of helpful knowledge to those who seek it. I see similar minds in many of my students, as well--a willingness to attend class, to complete assignments. More than a few of these students, certainly, are there because the course is required by one entity or another, and that is fine. I have, though, violated many possible rules by telling students that if they are there because their parents told them they had to be, they should go home. Stupid, yes.

I sinned early this semester by allowing too many people into my course, so many that a few must sit on the floor in a room that is cramped and stuffy. I am not sure why I made the choice I did--and it certainly was a choice--but the first day of class I looked out over the crowd of students and felt a certain sense of compassion (something that people who know me might say is an anomaly): so many funding cuts, so few classes open or available, so many students needing "just this class" to move on to somewhere else.

A price will be paid later in the semester, of course. By me, mostly: all those essays and exams to grade. During those nights I an staring at a stack of 4-page papers, I will think, "That beginner's mind needs help."

Paperwork

Too far behind in nearly everything but being behind, I called in busy to my monthly meeting of writers yesterday because my syllabus for one college's new semester and my preparations for workshop 3 of a 5-workshop course at another college are, respectively, not where they should be. This is the drudgery of teaching, even worse than grading papers. Trying to imagine ahead 16 weeks for a full-semester course is painful, and I am hopeful that I can fake it for a week until I get my feet under me.

Dumped into the mix of things is anticipation for a 2-day trip to Las Vegas at the end of the month, a 3-day camping trip in Yosemite the week after Vegas, then in March/April a 9-day trip to England on top of which is tacked a 2-day stay in Chicago as a stopover point to get my feet again used to United States soil. To make everything worse, I'm trying to figure out how to squeeze in yet another trek to Portland, a summer vacation to Colorado, and perhaps a trip to San Diego to show either my wife or one son or another the USS Midway, a ship on which I lived for over 2 years and is now a museum. I'd also like to persuade a friend that I could use the solitude of his cabin for a few days, but when the heck would I fit that in?

No wonder I don't get any writing done or why I don't fix things around the house. I keep telling myself that I've got to quit a job or 2 because I'd much rather have time than money at this point in my life. But not especially confident that the economy will keep its grubby claws off my main employment, I figure I need to keep the secondary and tertiary jobs for a little while longer.

Finding lodging in London and Chicago is a pressing concern given that I leave 10 weeks from today. I believe I have narrowed my preferences to just a couple of establishments, something that will be very nice: staying in 7 different places the last time I was visited Great Britain created too many packings and unpackings of baggage. More pressing, though, are the half-completed syllabus for one school, the class notes for the other school.

Oh--and I won't mention my thoughts about a career change....

Stopping by Snowy Woods

An afternoon and evening in San Francisco with Kominski included Green Apple Books and City Lights Books, and I came away with books of poems by Lyn Lifshin (Before It's Light) and Stephen Dunn (New And Selected Poems 1974-1994 and What Goes On, Selected and New Poems 1995-2009), a pint of beer at Vesuvio, dinner at Cafe Coppola (a glass of good Pinot Noir with Spaghetti alla Puttanesca), and a house special at Tosca. The day involved a good amount of walking, which was fine because the San Francisco weather was pretty much ideal. The streets themselves seemed rather quiet, reminding me of a similar trip shortly after 9/11 when a bar waitress told us that tourists were not touring. That same bar was quite active this night, however, and that was good. Years ago we would make these trips and drink more beer and more coffee, and we would stay until close to midnight when most places shut down. Just as I drink less of both beverages these days, I also buy fewer books seeing that my shelves are full and I've no more room in the house for additional shelves. Kominski has been through a lot of changes the last year or so, but he seems no worse for wear and appears to be as sane as he has ever been.

"What are you writing?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said.

We both figured we should leave things at that--how much shame can a man take, after all?

* * *

Early the next morning I was on the road again, this time with two companions who joined me for another day of backcountry skiing. Good company overcame poor snow and the excursion into the Sierra semi-high country turned out to be quite enjoyable, if also quite exhausting. A week earlier the snow was a powdery welcome mat, but in 8 days' time it had transformed into a crusty, unforgiving floor that seemed part linoleum, part glass. Still, we managed to work our way uphill to find how little snow there is--lots of rocks. One highlight was our discovery of mountain lion tracks in the snow. I have not seen such things before, so it was exciting for me. As I thought about things later, though, I pondered how often I have traveled through the area on either foot or skis with that kitty cat watching me. I have resolved to leave my supply of catnip at home from now on.

The journey down the hills and through the trees was a challenge given that I am not either skilled or coordinated when I put my skis on; I fell twice when I was simply standing and admiring the scenery. The only bad part was when, about 200 yards from the parking lot and car, just as I was about to speed down a sort of bunny hill, I noticed that one of my bindings had detached nearly completely from my left ski. Not a good thing, but I was glad that it had not happened a couple hours earlier, or when I was traversing a slope. If it had, I would still be walking.

Together, the 2 days paired nicely, and both served to erase some of the general malaise and cynicism I'd let built up and then written about in a couple posts. Here's one of my companions as we ate lunch:




And here's me--photographed by a brand-new iPhone.

Trickle Down: Thinking of Pogo

While I know that the bearers of bad news are simply reading the scripts before them, I stopped listening to or watching the news except for the weather which really doesn't vary much around here. I do still read the newspaper, a lifelong habit that I believe will be with me for the rest of my life.

I know the economy is bad, and I don't need anyone telling me as much several times a day. I no longer monitor my 401k or my IRA for fear that I'll have confront the truth that people of my generation or those that follow will be able to think of "retirement" only when it is teamed with "home." I picture myself joining my peers as a Wal-Mart greeter, the old stooped-over man who bares his remaining teeth in some kind of demented smile and talks about what used to be.

There are, I believe, many people responsible for the mess we're in. Ourselves, of course, for our greed and materialism, and for our ability to permit politicians to work for the benefit of corporations, and for corporations to work for the benefit of their shareholders. And when someone suggest that perhaps workers and citizens deserve some consideration, that someone is labeled as anti-freedom or socialist. People who remember Ronald Reagan--a man who was senile well before he left office--remember that he and his ilk worshiped the idea that money given to the wealthy would trickle down to the middle-class worker. Maybe there's some truth to the concept, but George Bush the Elder had it right when he used "voodoo economics" to describe Reagan's ideas about the economy. George Bush the Junior thought Reagan's ideas were the ones to emulate, and though President Clinton is a smart man his interjection between Bush 1 and Bush 2 didn't matter much.

I have one brother-in-law who has lost a job because of this economic slide, and I would not be surprised if in the very near future I join him on the unemployment roll. I've been there before and though it was not pleasant I did survive, and I figure that as long as I can make my house payment, everything will be fine. An article in today's newspaper, though, described the sometimes days-long process of simply filing for unemployment in California, the governor of which has mandated that state workers take 2 days off unpaid to help the state heal its budget sores. This will make simple acts such as registering a car with the DMV--already a tar pit of government bureaucracy--even more aggravating. Our state legislature cannot even pass a budget but has yet to volunteer to also take 2 unpaid days a month.

So many decisions are being made by people for whom we have voted, and I cannot help but think that when we look at them, we are looking at ourselves. We do not seem to hold our elected officials accountable for much unless they sit with wide stances in the bathroom of the Minneapolis airport, and in such cases they refuse to hold themselves accountable. These are people we choose to trust, and in that trust is the hope that they will use their nearly unlimited access to "experts" wisely so that their decisions are based on facts and not their beliefs or simplistic ideas.

Though I have worked hard at being optimistic about most of life, that hard work does not seem to be paying off. We have chosen to allow our "leaders" to lead us astray, and as we look at our reflections in them, we have met the enemy.

Over Here, Over There

Last week I made my first trek of the winter into the Sierra Mountains, chugging my fat butt and belly through wet, heavy snow that put as much drag on my skis as my weight did downward pressure. I had both friction and gravity working against me and the sight was not pretty. Headed toward a favorite lake, I gave up within 100 yards of my goal, wheezed a bit, then turned around trudged back to the car. I felt old and surely looked it. With a fresh few inches of powder, I tried again this morning and found that the skis glided with little effort on my part. When I left the car the outside temperature was 18 degrees, but with no wind the weather and the snow alike were perfect. I made it to the lake and had half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, enjoyed the snow and sunshine, then wended my way back to where I'd begun, finding many wonderful diversions into meadows of unbroken snow.

By early afternoon I was seated on the rear bumper of my car and enjoying the second half of my sandwich. A couple hours later I was at my sister's house for a small going away party for my nephew, who is in the Air Force and who will soon deploy to Iraq, where another nephew has been for a couple of months. Enjoying my first beer of 2009 I sat and watched my nephew and his siblings, my sons, and several friends of the family play volleyball, and I could not help but contrast their fun with the certain realities my nephew will face as he joins others in the lie that was a search for weapons of mass destruction but transformed into ridding the world of an evil dictator and transformed again into the establishment of a democratic government, and what may or may not be part of the Global War on Terror.

As I grow older I wonder more at the ease with which some people send other people into harm's way as part of some "noble" cause or because we certainly must fight "them" there so we do not have to fight them here. I watched my nephew dig and set and spike the volleyball, and I thought back to when he was small and pudgy, when he worried about nothing more important than what to put on his hamburger. Last week when I played volleyball with him I listened to him talk, and I could hear the Air Force speaking with him just as the Navy must have spoken through me decades ago when I was just as gullible and pliable.

I could think of nothing profound to tell him as I left for home, so I told him to take care of himself, and to stay in touch with his parents. At some level, I think, he is aware of certain dangers that await him, but he betrayed neither fear nor worry. The first half of the day was good, but so frivolous compared to the second half. My brother-in-law told me that he and his son are planning things for when my nephew returns as scheduled in October, but I think both of us were wishing that he wasn't going at all.

Resolution #9

I seldom make resolutions at the start of a new year, preferring instead to attempt course corrections whenever I need them. I'm too old to remake myself, and most of my habits are such deep grooves in my brain-matter that no amount of Bondo could fill them. I have been trying to be less grumpy, but that's proving to be less easy than quitting coffee was a year ago.

There are, though, a few things I'm looking forward to or would like to accomplish this year, some that are perhaps birthed of resolutions I made in, say, October.

1. Writing at least one good poem. This isn't easy, considering that I write maybe half a dozen a year to begin with. I think I'm still on for a poetry reading next month, so I'd like to have something new by then.
   
   
2. Getting beyond the first chapter of a new novel (writing, not reading). Beginnings are always easy and fun, whether it's a love affair or a book; the real work shows up when we can't get the characters to do what we want them to do.
   
   
3. With my wife, making a semi-spontaneous trip to Las Vegas at the end of this month. Never been there.
   
   
4. Spending a couple days snow camping in Yosemite some time in the next couple of months.
   
   
5. Enjoying a journey to England in March. More days in London this time.
   
   
6. Finding others to occasionally contribute to this blog. Really. Anyone? Anyone? Ferris?
   
   
7. Adjusting to a world with no George Bush. Good God it has been a long 8 years.
   
   
8. Planning a vacation to Colorado and at least one long weekend in Portland. Ain't it great having family who will let you sleep in the spare bedroom for free?
   
   
9. Getting permission to set up writing-shop in a small house on the North Coast for several consecutive days (see #1 & #2) this spring. This one might cost me a couple of lunches.
   
   

All of these are contingent on many factors, of course: watching less television; keeping my job (i.e., funding); finding the energy for teaching (which pays for assorted excursions); finding other writers with whom to socialize (I'm pretty much a leech, especially where Shawn and Kominski are concerned) to keep the creative side alive; being nice to family and friends who have homes in places I want to visit. Well, maybe that last part is a bit selfish: I mean, there are other reasons to be nice to these people....