Morality Play: Breathe
There are two ways to occupy a space.
Fill it up with as much stuff as possible
Or clean it up, empty it out, strip it down.
These are not mutually exclusive, and
Any sane person would do both, but
Framing the question raises some issues:
How much of your stuff adds to the quality of the space?
How much of the space is used up in containing your stuff?
And how much of the space do you actively inhabit?
Sweep the floor, wipe the counters, nest the bowls,
Open the windows, let the inside air out,
Invite the outside air in, pollen and all.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Friday, April 06, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Six
(With apologies to Bob Dylan's Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues)
When you're tossed in the midst of Custom Pub and its file release day,
And the editor leaves and creativity hits a contrarian brick wall.
Don't try to game the system when the buyer's in a spat with Design,
Just get the files to the printer and go out to lunch with your team.
Half the players have already checked out of this holiday hotel,
They're making other plans and strategizing their next big deal.
It's on to greener pastures, look at us now beating all our dates,
And unless it's an emergency, don't copy me on any more emails.
What are my plans? Well, I won't be going south as I thought,
Maybe color some eggs, plant some flowers, or go out to eat.
Mom ask if I was going to church, and I said probably not,
But I'm looking at a couple of candidates to see if they fit.
It's a pantheist season of renewal and it's been a few years
Since I've been to meditation at the Buddhist temple downtown,
And the years before that at the universalist country church,
So maybe a congregation or a sangha would do me some good.
My wife and I were riding our bikes by the river and I asked her if
She would join me in some cultural research among the Presbyterians.
We'd visit and observe, go out to brunch, and study the data,
No eggs, no bunnies, and only two wheels on this cycling dharma.
The small-town congregation gave us an education in their ways,
They couldn't have been more friendly in their pastel sanctuary,
With lilies in the windows, brass sextet, angelic harpists, organ, choir,
Although the sermon was heavy handed and inordinately long.
With a table by the water, brunch was a complete success:
The buffet had lox and bagels, fresh melons, lobster mac and cheese,
My date looked great across the table in the gold and silver light,
Our waiter kept refilling our cups, and I wrote this with his pen.
When you're tossed in the midst of Custom Pub and its file release day,
And the editor leaves and creativity hits a contrarian brick wall.
Don't try to game the system when the buyer's in a spat with Design,
Just get the files to the printer and go out to lunch with your team.
Half the players have already checked out of this holiday hotel,
They're making other plans and strategizing their next big deal.
It's on to greener pastures, look at us now beating all our dates,
And unless it's an emergency, don't copy me on any more emails.
What are my plans? Well, I won't be going south as I thought,
Maybe color some eggs, plant some flowers, or go out to eat.
Mom ask if I was going to church, and I said probably not,
But I'm looking at a couple of candidates to see if they fit.
It's a pantheist season of renewal and it's been a few years
Since I've been to meditation at the Buddhist temple downtown,
And the years before that at the universalist country church,
So maybe a congregation or a sangha would do me some good.
My wife and I were riding our bikes by the river and I asked her if
She would join me in some cultural research among the Presbyterians.
We'd visit and observe, go out to brunch, and study the data,
No eggs, no bunnies, and only two wheels on this cycling dharma.
The small-town congregation gave us an education in their ways,
They couldn't have been more friendly in their pastel sanctuary,
With lilies in the windows, brass sextet, angelic harpists, organ, choir,
Although the sermon was heavy handed and inordinately long.
With a table by the water, brunch was a complete success:
The buffet had lox and bagels, fresh melons, lobster mac and cheese,
My date looked great across the table in the gold and silver light,
Our waiter kept refilling our cups, and I wrote this with his pen.
Thursday, April 05, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Four
Very Superstitious
Stevie Wonder said if you believe in things you don't understand you suffer.
A drummer friend warns that a full moon is coming.
What kind of wild energy will that release?
Yesterday was Opening Day of baseball season.
The late afternoon sun thrown across the room at the rec center.
Feet stand on earth, head touches sky, think space, think body.
Tomorrow is Good Friday, marking the day Jesus was crucified.
Sunday is Easter, recalling the day he rose from the dead.
Passover begins at sundown, celebrating the liberation of the Jews.
The Masters golf tournament takes place this week in Augusta.
To my knowledge there is no tournament called The Slaves.
That would be in poor taste, but hope springs eternal.
Stevie Wonder said if you believe in things you don't understand you suffer.
A drummer friend warns that a full moon is coming.
What kind of wild energy will that release?
Yesterday was Opening Day of baseball season.
The late afternoon sun thrown across the room at the rec center.
Feet stand on earth, head touches sky, think space, think body.
Tomorrow is Good Friday, marking the day Jesus was crucified.
Sunday is Easter, recalling the day he rose from the dead.
Passover begins at sundown, celebrating the liberation of the Jews.
The Masters golf tournament takes place this week in Augusta.
To my knowledge there is no tournament called The Slaves.
That would be in poor taste, but hope springs eternal.
NaPoWriMo Day Five
Does every family have a Golden Child
Whose innate specialness is obvious while
Siblings must step back and admire,
Acknowledge, acquiesce, resent, or revile?
Parents do their best to reconcile,
compensate, rationalize, and deny
that their affection for one is any higher
than for the other without a trace of guile.
The kids will have the last and longest smile,
the firstborn and the second will conspire
over beer and pierogis Ukrainian style
in Manhattan while we toil away in Ohio.
Whose innate specialness is obvious while
Siblings must step back and admire,
Acknowledge, acquiesce, resent, or revile?
Parents do their best to reconcile,
compensate, rationalize, and deny
that their affection for one is any higher
than for the other without a trace of guile.
The kids will have the last and longest smile,
the firstborn and the second will conspire
over beer and pierogis Ukrainian style
in Manhattan while we toil away in Ohio.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Three
Don't confuse the map with the territory,
the credits with the movie,
or the title with the house.
You might know every inch of the map,
memorize the credits, have your name on the title;
that doesn't make it your place, your movie, your house.
But if you walk the property,
suspend disbelief, sit through the movie,
and inhabit the house, you own it with your body.
Don't judge a book by its cover,
a snack by its packaging,
or a suit by its designer label.
But if you're paid to make labels,
manage files, transfer titles,
design covers, make bookmaps,
or package the snack in all its cheesy goodness,
by all means take it seriously, just don't
spend all day in the flat screen two dimensions.
the credits with the movie,
or the title with the house.
You might know every inch of the map,
memorize the credits, have your name on the title;
that doesn't make it your place, your movie, your house.
But if you walk the property,
suspend disbelief, sit through the movie,
and inhabit the house, you own it with your body.
Don't judge a book by its cover,
a snack by its packaging,
or a suit by its designer label.
But if you're paid to make labels,
manage files, transfer titles,
design covers, make bookmaps,
or package the snack in all its cheesy goodness,
by all means take it seriously, just don't
spend all day in the flat screen two dimensions.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
NaPoWriMo Entry Two
Mary was eighty-eight and set in her ways.
Her stepson, my friend, arrived just in time
to pick out the casket and carry out her wishes
for a simple graveside ceremony, before leaving
on his own anniversary trip to a tropical island.
While he was away, the world at home exploded
in color and pine pollen. No rest for the wicked,
dutiful, conflicted son, but a trust for the living.
Nobody plans the distribution of losses,
the unfortunate timing, the strained generations,
though everybody plots a beautiful holiday
to celebrate some future passage in vain.
Her stepson, my friend, arrived just in time
to pick out the casket and carry out her wishes
for a simple graveside ceremony, before leaving
on his own anniversary trip to a tropical island.
While he was away, the world at home exploded
in color and pine pollen. No rest for the wicked,
dutiful, conflicted son, but a trust for the living.
Nobody plans the distribution of losses,
the unfortunate timing, the strained generations,
though everybody plots a beautiful holiday
to celebrate some future passage in vain.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
April is NaPoWriMo
That's National Poetry Writing Month, philistines. So I have taken the bait, said I'm game, and fallen behind two days in. Always a slow learner, late bloomer, and cockeyed optimist that I can make up for lost time. Here entry one:
Before enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go to the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
After enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go the the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
So I'm told.
Before enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go to the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
After enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go the the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
So I'm told.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Realignment, part III
The Eurozone clearly is not working out as planned, it might be time to revisit the whole grand plan. Grand plans have a way of doing that, going slightly awry, despite the brilliant schemes and best intentions of the interested parties.
The unintended consequences of making such grand plans and embarking on extraordinary experiments is not a reason not to have big ideas or attempt big ventures. Rather it's an opportunity to rethink the big ideas and remake the big ventures, not necessarily according to the conventional wisdom in Paris, Frankfurt, Rome, or Brussels under which they were conceived.
A modest revision might model the single-currency of the European Union on the other big thing all the Eurozone countries have in common, which is, of course, futbol (soccer). A team (usually a city) plays its way into the upper echelon of competition, recognition, and rewards. The cream rises to the top at all levels, so not only do the best players from every country go to the top teams in the top leagues, but the best teams are elevated to the top leagues.
If Manchester United fails to perform well in the English Premier League, the team will drop down to a lower level league, like a major league baseball player being sent to the minors to regain his stroke, strength, or confidence. If he works his way back into shape pitching for the Toledo Mud Hens, he'll be back with the Tigers in no time.
If American ballteams, and not just players, followed this principle, the cellar-dwellers in the majors would drop to Triple-A, and the Columbus Clippers, or whoever wins the American Association, would rise to the major leagues. A couple of bad years, and the Pirates or Royals might find themselves playing triple-A ball with the likes of Scranton and Charlotte.
Could nation, cities, or banks do this?
The unintended consequences of making such grand plans and embarking on extraordinary experiments is not a reason not to have big ideas or attempt big ventures. Rather it's an opportunity to rethink the big ideas and remake the big ventures, not necessarily according to the conventional wisdom in Paris, Frankfurt, Rome, or Brussels under which they were conceived.
A modest revision might model the single-currency of the European Union on the other big thing all the Eurozone countries have in common, which is, of course, futbol (soccer). A team (usually a city) plays its way into the upper echelon of competition, recognition, and rewards. The cream rises to the top at all levels, so not only do the best players from every country go to the top teams in the top leagues, but the best teams are elevated to the top leagues.
If Manchester United fails to perform well in the English Premier League, the team will drop down to a lower level league, like a major league baseball player being sent to the minors to regain his stroke, strength, or confidence. If he works his way back into shape pitching for the Toledo Mud Hens, he'll be back with the Tigers in no time.
If American ballteams, and not just players, followed this principle, the cellar-dwellers in the majors would drop to Triple-A, and the Columbus Clippers, or whoever wins the American Association, would rise to the major leagues. A couple of bad years, and the Pirates or Royals might find themselves playing triple-A ball with the likes of Scranton and Charlotte.
Could nation, cities, or banks do this?
Sunday, February 05, 2012
Is the Superbowl real?
It was a midterm question in HPER 621, Principles of Physical Education, as posed by a brilliant and inspiring graduate teaching assistant named Mary Margaret (Peg) Fabbro, Ph.D., and it started a spirited discussion, which was the whole idea. Peg loved football. She had actually played on a women's semi-pro football team for a while. She also loved teaching, and she once asked me rhetorically, "Which do you love more, the subject matter or the students?"
Let's just say she took her job seriously. Some of the students in HPER 621 argued that obviously the Superbowl is real, since it's on TV, it costs a lot of money, it generates a lot of money, and everyone pays attention. Others argued, on the contrary, that it's a a media pseudo-event, a heavily hyped infomercial with little relation to actual sport, since it's on TV, costs a lot of money, generates a lot of money, and everyone pays attention.
One student's response was memorable. Chris Spielman, a former Buckeye and a linebacker with the Detroit Lions at the time, asked me, "If the Lions were in the Superbowl and I could get you tickets, then would it be real?" Point taken. I told him yes, that would change everything. I would accept his offer and take my dad to the game. I'm still waiting for the Lions to make it, but when they do, Chris, I want those tickets.
So this past Sunday afternoon I was again part of a great Amerikan electronic community huddled around our televisions in a strange kind of spiritual, if not religious, gathering, and you could cut the manufactured tension with a knife. Eli was under pressure. Giselle was in her private box. Tom was keeping cool in the pocket, and Bill Bellicose looked lovely as usual in his scowl and his hoodie. I was back from my bike ride ready to relax with a refreshing beverage, and the guacamole had just the right proportions of garlic, lemon, and salt.
The question on my mind was whether the Superbowl is a religious event. Some people clearly have a large emotional investment in the game, namely Giants fans, Patriots fans, advertising geeks, and pop culture mavens who just want to see the halftime show. Other people have a material investment in a team jersey, a bet in the office pool, a friendly wager on the side, and the beer and food required to make it a legitimate sacrament.
Maybe we should all get the Monday after the game off work, so we can properly observe, participate, and recover from the magnitude of the celebration. Just like a real holiday - there's that word again, real - a lot of people get together with family and friends, go to parties, eat and drink together, and make the day special whether or not they take the game seriously, care about either of the teams, or know the history of the NFL.
Brady gives up a safety for intentional grounding from the end zone. Brandon Jacobs and Ahmad Bradshaw could make the different if they get some running room. The Elton John Pepsi commercial is superior to the bland Coke ad, the idiotic apocalyptic Chevy ad, and the brain-dead, nostalgic, racist and sexist beer ads. Manning and Manningham managed to hook up on some key passes, and the Giants won. The grilled salmon, potatoes, and green beans were perfect. Madonna and choir were sharp, and it was cool to have an actual marching band in the halftime show.
This year I didn't have any skin in the game. I'm not a Giant fan or a Patriot fan. It would be different if the Lions or the Packers, or even the Bears, Vikings, or the Browns were in the game. I spent the day jump-starting a pickup truck, baking bread, doing laundry, mulching a flower bed with pieces of the Christmas tree, and riding a bike across Hoover Dam and back on a beautiful mild midwinter day. My own religious holiday. The game was fun too.
Let's just say she took her job seriously. Some of the students in HPER 621 argued that obviously the Superbowl is real, since it's on TV, it costs a lot of money, it generates a lot of money, and everyone pays attention. Others argued, on the contrary, that it's a a media pseudo-event, a heavily hyped infomercial with little relation to actual sport, since it's on TV, costs a lot of money, generates a lot of money, and everyone pays attention.
One student's response was memorable. Chris Spielman, a former Buckeye and a linebacker with the Detroit Lions at the time, asked me, "If the Lions were in the Superbowl and I could get you tickets, then would it be real?" Point taken. I told him yes, that would change everything. I would accept his offer and take my dad to the game. I'm still waiting for the Lions to make it, but when they do, Chris, I want those tickets.
So this past Sunday afternoon I was again part of a great Amerikan electronic community huddled around our televisions in a strange kind of spiritual, if not religious, gathering, and you could cut the manufactured tension with a knife. Eli was under pressure. Giselle was in her private box. Tom was keeping cool in the pocket, and Bill Bellicose looked lovely as usual in his scowl and his hoodie. I was back from my bike ride ready to relax with a refreshing beverage, and the guacamole had just the right proportions of garlic, lemon, and salt.
The question on my mind was whether the Superbowl is a religious event. Some people clearly have a large emotional investment in the game, namely Giants fans, Patriots fans, advertising geeks, and pop culture mavens who just want to see the halftime show. Other people have a material investment in a team jersey, a bet in the office pool, a friendly wager on the side, and the beer and food required to make it a legitimate sacrament.
Maybe we should all get the Monday after the game off work, so we can properly observe, participate, and recover from the magnitude of the celebration. Just like a real holiday - there's that word again, real - a lot of people get together with family and friends, go to parties, eat and drink together, and make the day special whether or not they take the game seriously, care about either of the teams, or know the history of the NFL.
Brady gives up a safety for intentional grounding from the end zone. Brandon Jacobs and Ahmad Bradshaw could make the different if they get some running room. The Elton John Pepsi commercial is superior to the bland Coke ad, the idiotic apocalyptic Chevy ad, and the brain-dead, nostalgic, racist and sexist beer ads. Manning and Manningham managed to hook up on some key passes, and the Giants won. The grilled salmon, potatoes, and green beans were perfect. Madonna and choir were sharp, and it was cool to have an actual marching band in the halftime show.
This year I didn't have any skin in the game. I'm not a Giant fan or a Patriot fan. It would be different if the Lions or the Packers, or even the Bears, Vikings, or the Browns were in the game. I spent the day jump-starting a pickup truck, baking bread, doing laundry, mulching a flower bed with pieces of the Christmas tree, and riding a bike across Hoover Dam and back on a beautiful mild midwinter day. My own religious holiday. The game was fun too.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Lamar
I picked up an Ohio State men's basketball schedule this morning and noticed that the nationally ranked Buckeyes played an early-season nonconference game against Lamar on December 20. By coincidence - if there is such a thing - the next day my thoughtful wife Gven Golly mysteriously invited me to ride along with her to beautiful Hilliard, Ohio, across town from our Methodistville home, to do some "holiday shopping." We ended up at the Capital Area Human Society, where I picked out my Christmas present, an eight-month-old black cat named Lamar.
The Humane Society is an amazing and well-organized place that performs an impressive set of services. Animals are well cared for, and every surface was clean. Staff and customers are asked to wash their hands every time they handle an animal. Everyone we encountered seemed, well, humane.
Gven and Jessi and I wandered from cage to cage checking out first the younger and then the older cats, and I quickly developed a fondness for the slinky little black guy who liked a lot of contact. I took my time looking around at others but came back to Lamar. I filled out the application, and Gven paid the fee (holiday special - $15 - included shots, neutering, tag, records, everything) and made an appointment for Lamar's surgery the following Tuesday.
The day after he was "fixed" our new cat was ready to come home. His upstairs loft was prepared, with litterbox, food and water bowls, and plenty of closets, dressers, and baskets to explore. Which he did, immediately and incessantly. The first week we kept the stairway door closed, so Lamar had the run of the upstairs while Ruby, the big rambunctious dog, stayed downstairs. Lamar made himself at home and continued to spend most of his time upstairs.
By the time the next weekend rolled around, we were ready to introduce the cat and the dog under controlled conditions. They were wary of each other, to put it mildly, and the process of getting acquainted will continue for a while, punctuated by some hissing when Ruby gets too close and an occasional wild chase when Lamar suddenly darts into the room. Most of the time each has his/her own space - Ruby on the couch, a big cushion, or the living room rug, Lamar in the two upstairs rooms and an increasing range of shadowy spaces downstairs - so this could take some time.
Meanwhile, Ruby spends a lot of time out in the yard, which is her domain, and Lamar scampers around inside getting his nose into every nook and cranny of every room inside. He likes to sit in my lap when I get home at night and stays close by when I sit down to meditate. So far, that's been our routine. I take my shoes off and plop down on the cushion, and he's right there by my feet. I think we're going to get along.
The Humane Society is an amazing and well-organized place that performs an impressive set of services. Animals are well cared for, and every surface was clean. Staff and customers are asked to wash their hands every time they handle an animal. Everyone we encountered seemed, well, humane.
Gven and Jessi and I wandered from cage to cage checking out first the younger and then the older cats, and I quickly developed a fondness for the slinky little black guy who liked a lot of contact. I took my time looking around at others but came back to Lamar. I filled out the application, and Gven paid the fee (holiday special - $15 - included shots, neutering, tag, records, everything) and made an appointment for Lamar's surgery the following Tuesday.
The day after he was "fixed" our new cat was ready to come home. His upstairs loft was prepared, with litterbox, food and water bowls, and plenty of closets, dressers, and baskets to explore. Which he did, immediately and incessantly. The first week we kept the stairway door closed, so Lamar had the run of the upstairs while Ruby, the big rambunctious dog, stayed downstairs. Lamar made himself at home and continued to spend most of his time upstairs.
By the time the next weekend rolled around, we were ready to introduce the cat and the dog under controlled conditions. They were wary of each other, to put it mildly, and the process of getting acquainted will continue for a while, punctuated by some hissing when Ruby gets too close and an occasional wild chase when Lamar suddenly darts into the room. Most of the time each has his/her own space - Ruby on the couch, a big cushion, or the living room rug, Lamar in the two upstairs rooms and an increasing range of shadowy spaces downstairs - so this could take some time.
Meanwhile, Ruby spends a lot of time out in the yard, which is her domain, and Lamar scampers around inside getting his nose into every nook and cranny of every room inside. He likes to sit in my lap when I get home at night and stays close by when I sit down to meditate. So far, that's been our routine. I take my shoes off and plop down on the cushion, and he's right there by my feet. I think we're going to get along.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Happy Holidays, Family & Friends
It seems that change is everywhere, rocking, if not raising, all boats in wave after wave of events local and global, economic and political, corporate and personal. Whether the tide is rising or falling, turbulent or calm, whether revolutions spiral upward or downward, we send our best wishes for a bright, buoyant holiday season.
This time last year, Gven and Sven went to New York with Jessi, missing a record-setting blizzard by a day. We roamed the Brooklyn Museum, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, and some neat shops in Soho, then celebrated our thirty-second anniversary at the coolest little trattoria in the West Village.
In May, the Golly clan gathered in Milwaukee for the wedding of Sven’s nephew (Jeanie Beanie Golly-Gee’s son) Max. The ceremony in an old Presbyterian church included a ritual handfasting with the family tartan, and the reception on the lakefront was memorable.
In June, we all converged at a beautiful winery in Rochester, Michigan, to celebrate the marriage of another nephew (Anna Banana Golly-Gosh’s son) Todd following Todd and Liz’s wedding in Dubuque, Iowa. Gven and Sven then leapfrogged further north for a couple days of camping, horseback riding, and kayaking.
In July, Gven took her sister Annette Funicello Horton and their mother Layla Alexander, who called herself Lill but everyone knew her as Nancy, to the Quilt National exhibit at the Dairy Barn in Athens and the State Fair in Columbus. In August, we went with Nancy to her sixtieth high school reunion in Hillsville, Virginia, and the Alexander family reunion at an idyllic riverside spot outside Sylvatus, Virginia.
Sven’s parents overcame a couple of close calls and continue to amaze us with their hardiness and resilience. Mom didn’t let a little pneumonia and a fractured hip stop her from celebrating her ninetieth birthday in September, with Anna Banana, Jeanie Beanie, Jojo, Sven, Petro, and their spouses in attendance. She has been a real trouper in regaining her mobility by diligent physical therapy, strength of will, and Dad’s patient support. He has decided his driving days are over, but he and Mom are still very independent, maintaining their cozy house and wonderful garden on the scenic Cumberland Plateau.
Zelda decided that it’s time for more formal education, so in January she is starting the Master of Library and Information Science program at Kent State. She will keep her assistant manager’s job at Half Price Books and commute to classes at the State Library of Ohio near downtown Columbus. She and her friend David have a new apartment in North Campus/South Clintonville, strategically located between work and school. Zelda spent Halloween in Chicago exploring new and old haunts with her Kent roommate Megan.
Jessi has worked on art handling projects with a moving company that specializes in fine art, as well as renovating apartments in Brooklyn and Manhattan. His baseball team played a home-and-away series with a team from Pittsburgh, complete with live bands, cookout, and friendly competition. In August, he took a week-long bicycle trip along the Maine coast with three friends in the wake of Hurricane Irene. This fall, he shouldered added responsibility as head honcho of the screening shed during the cranberry harvest in Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts.
Sven’s Mom, Dad, and sister Jojo made the trek north to Central Swing State for our traditional Thanksgiving feast, featuring world-class pies by Gven and Zelda. Jessi and his friend Flora joined us straight from the cranberry farm.
Gven keeps finding creative ways to bring a serious, respectful, personal yoga practice to a broad demographic cross-section of Central Ohioans, with the Yoga Factory in Methodistville as her home base. As soon as our new furnace is installed in the nick of time just before Christmas, she will be back in her studio applying chaos theory to the construction of architecture-themed art quilts.
On weekends, Sven can usually be found in the garden outside Om Shanty, weeding, pruning, planting, watering, or splitting and stacking firewood, his favorite form of fiber art. So far, he has kept his day job at the Hill, the newly independent, downsized, digitized, not-your-grandfather’s-textbook company.
We lost a dear friend in October. Our brother-in-law Bart Badly – Jojo’s husband – died after a battle with cancer. We will miss his wit and passion for life.
Jessi and Zelda are home for the holidays; the tree is up; a fire is in the hearth; lutefisk, potatoes, and peas are on the table. I guess some things don’t change so much. Have an energetic, dynamic Year of the Dragon.
This time last year, Gven and Sven went to New York with Jessi, missing a record-setting blizzard by a day. We roamed the Brooklyn Museum, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, and some neat shops in Soho, then celebrated our thirty-second anniversary at the coolest little trattoria in the West Village.
In May, the Golly clan gathered in Milwaukee for the wedding of Sven’s nephew (Jeanie Beanie Golly-Gee’s son) Max. The ceremony in an old Presbyterian church included a ritual handfasting with the family tartan, and the reception on the lakefront was memorable.
In June, we all converged at a beautiful winery in Rochester, Michigan, to celebrate the marriage of another nephew (Anna Banana Golly-Gosh’s son) Todd following Todd and Liz’s wedding in Dubuque, Iowa. Gven and Sven then leapfrogged further north for a couple days of camping, horseback riding, and kayaking.
In July, Gven took her sister Annette Funicello Horton and their mother Layla Alexander, who called herself Lill but everyone knew her as Nancy, to the Quilt National exhibit at the Dairy Barn in Athens and the State Fair in Columbus. In August, we went with Nancy to her sixtieth high school reunion in Hillsville, Virginia, and the Alexander family reunion at an idyllic riverside spot outside Sylvatus, Virginia.
Sven’s parents overcame a couple of close calls and continue to amaze us with their hardiness and resilience. Mom didn’t let a little pneumonia and a fractured hip stop her from celebrating her ninetieth birthday in September, with Anna Banana, Jeanie Beanie, Jojo, Sven, Petro, and their spouses in attendance. She has been a real trouper in regaining her mobility by diligent physical therapy, strength of will, and Dad’s patient support. He has decided his driving days are over, but he and Mom are still very independent, maintaining their cozy house and wonderful garden on the scenic Cumberland Plateau.
Zelda decided that it’s time for more formal education, so in January she is starting the Master of Library and Information Science program at Kent State. She will keep her assistant manager’s job at Half Price Books and commute to classes at the State Library of Ohio near downtown Columbus. She and her friend David have a new apartment in North Campus/South Clintonville, strategically located between work and school. Zelda spent Halloween in Chicago exploring new and old haunts with her Kent roommate Megan.Jessi has worked on art handling projects with a moving company that specializes in fine art, as well as renovating apartments in Brooklyn and Manhattan. His baseball team played a home-and-away series with a team from Pittsburgh, complete with live bands, cookout, and friendly competition. In August, he took a week-long bicycle trip along the Maine coast with three friends in the wake of Hurricane Irene. This fall, he shouldered added responsibility as head honcho of the screening shed during the cranberry harvest in Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts.
Sven’s Mom, Dad, and sister Jojo made the trek north to Central Swing State for our traditional Thanksgiving feast, featuring world-class pies by Gven and Zelda. Jessi and his friend Flora joined us straight from the cranberry farm.
Gven keeps finding creative ways to bring a serious, respectful, personal yoga practice to a broad demographic cross-section of Central Ohioans, with the Yoga Factory in Methodistville as her home base. As soon as our new furnace is installed in the nick of time just before Christmas, she will be back in her studio applying chaos theory to the construction of architecture-themed art quilts.
On weekends, Sven can usually be found in the garden outside Om Shanty, weeding, pruning, planting, watering, or splitting and stacking firewood, his favorite form of fiber art. So far, he has kept his day job at the Hill, the newly independent, downsized, digitized, not-your-grandfather’s-textbook company.
We lost a dear friend in October. Our brother-in-law Bart Badly – Jojo’s husband – died after a battle with cancer. We will miss his wit and passion for life.
Jessi and Zelda are home for the holidays; the tree is up; a fire is in the hearth; lutefisk, potatoes, and peas are on the table. I guess some things don’t change so much. Have an energetic, dynamic Year of the Dragon.
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Realignment, continued (indefinitely)
The world being what it is - always in flux and constantly shifting in the winds of economic necessity - it is time to revisit the realignment of college sports, the congressional districts of Central Swing State, the map of Europe, and most volatile of all, the publishing industry. Common sense occasionally plays a role in this process, but that depends entirely on whose common sense you are considering. I propose the following alignments based on physical and cultural geography, historical alliances and rivalries, and my personal bias as a sexagenarian with letters after my name, which means you have to listen to my opinions.
First and foremost, the Big Ten needs to expand further east to include Syracuse and Pittsburgh and further west to include Kansas and Oklahoma. The Southeastern Conference, you know, the NFL subsidiary with colleges attached, can have Missouri, Texas A&M, whatever. The Atlantic Coast Conference, which at one time was comprised of universities in close proximity to the Atlantic coast, should look at a map and consider adding Rutgers and Connecticut. The remnants of the Big 12, including Texas, Kansas State, Oklahoma State, Baylor, and Texas Tech, might want to return to its Southwest Conference roots by incorporating New Mexico, Colorado State, Utah, Brigham Young, and UNLV. If the various commissioners and/or university presidents would like me to join the conference calls in which these arrangements are made, I would be happy to fit them into my schedule.
Those agreements will be child's play compared to getting a couple dozen Ohio legislators to agree on a map of the state's reduced number of congressional districts. I suggest that they think the unthinkable, and simply look at the de facto demographics of the state county-by-county, and draw the new lines to balance district populations. Although it will take all the fun out of the ruling party's celebratory gerrymandering, redrawing lines to create 17 districts from the existing 18 should not be rocket science, and these state legislators are NOT rocket scientists. If they can wrap their parochial podunk minds around groups of contiguous counties forming a district, I think the white, rural counties would elect a member of Congress they can live with, and the multi-ethnic urban counties would elect a member of Congress they can live with. This will happen when hell freezes over.
Across the pond, where tribes have fought for longer and made progress toward civilized coexistence, the EU should just excise the UK, which can form its own economic community - perhaps with Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, Finland, and - thinking outside the box just a bit - Russia. Britain has never been part of Europe anyway, and the Norman conquest didn't make it so. The European Union can then become a true continental entity by building around the core nation states of France, Germany, and Italy and the historical inner ring of Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Austria, Spain, and Portugal. Given sufficient democratic and capitalist development, the EU will then extend eastward to include Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, and yes, Greece. That hole in the middle, of course, is Switzerland, which someday should take its place as the Eurozone's official banker and protector of the Euro.
The neighboring league across the Bosporus will eventually become a friendly, or at least non-hostile rival, a Southwest Asian Union (SWAU) that includes Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Kurdistan, Iran, and Pakistan, with Israel as its Switzerland. We're talking long-term. Next door to the aforementioned Shekelzone will be the Rupeezone, based in India but also including Nepal, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Indonesia. You can guess what rival league looms across the Himalayas: the Yuanzone, otherwise known as China, along with its regional trading partners Korea, Japan, Taiwan, and the Philippines.
Okay, so the socio-economic map of the world has been settled. Now comes the hard part, reorganizing the industry that collects, compiles, composes, and disseminates information to the aforementioned markets. Call it the knowledge business, if you will, or the content management business, or educational products and services, or some other five-dollar phrase that hasn't been coined yet. This is an economic entity in flux if there ever was one, and the only thinking that even addresses reality occurs outside a box that isn't made of paper. Printing on paper will continue, of course, but as a small appendage of the real publishing action, which is already occurring in pixels, not pages.
First and foremost, the Big Ten needs to expand further east to include Syracuse and Pittsburgh and further west to include Kansas and Oklahoma. The Southeastern Conference, you know, the NFL subsidiary with colleges attached, can have Missouri, Texas A&M, whatever. The Atlantic Coast Conference, which at one time was comprised of universities in close proximity to the Atlantic coast, should look at a map and consider adding Rutgers and Connecticut. The remnants of the Big 12, including Texas, Kansas State, Oklahoma State, Baylor, and Texas Tech, might want to return to its Southwest Conference roots by incorporating New Mexico, Colorado State, Utah, Brigham Young, and UNLV. If the various commissioners and/or university presidents would like me to join the conference calls in which these arrangements are made, I would be happy to fit them into my schedule.
Those agreements will be child's play compared to getting a couple dozen Ohio legislators to agree on a map of the state's reduced number of congressional districts. I suggest that they think the unthinkable, and simply look at the de facto demographics of the state county-by-county, and draw the new lines to balance district populations. Although it will take all the fun out of the ruling party's celebratory gerrymandering, redrawing lines to create 17 districts from the existing 18 should not be rocket science, and these state legislators are NOT rocket scientists. If they can wrap their parochial podunk minds around groups of contiguous counties forming a district, I think the white, rural counties would elect a member of Congress they can live with, and the multi-ethnic urban counties would elect a member of Congress they can live with. This will happen when hell freezes over.
Across the pond, where tribes have fought for longer and made progress toward civilized coexistence, the EU should just excise the UK, which can form its own economic community - perhaps with Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, Finland, and - thinking outside the box just a bit - Russia. Britain has never been part of Europe anyway, and the Norman conquest didn't make it so. The European Union can then become a true continental entity by building around the core nation states of France, Germany, and Italy and the historical inner ring of Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Austria, Spain, and Portugal. Given sufficient democratic and capitalist development, the EU will then extend eastward to include Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, and yes, Greece. That hole in the middle, of course, is Switzerland, which someday should take its place as the Eurozone's official banker and protector of the Euro.
The neighboring league across the Bosporus will eventually become a friendly, or at least non-hostile rival, a Southwest Asian Union (SWAU) that includes Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Kurdistan, Iran, and Pakistan, with Israel as its Switzerland. We're talking long-term. Next door to the aforementioned Shekelzone will be the Rupeezone, based in India but also including Nepal, Bangladesh, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Indonesia. You can guess what rival league looms across the Himalayas: the Yuanzone, otherwise known as China, along with its regional trading partners Korea, Japan, Taiwan, and the Philippines.
Okay, so the socio-economic map of the world has been settled. Now comes the hard part, reorganizing the industry that collects, compiles, composes, and disseminates information to the aforementioned markets. Call it the knowledge business, if you will, or the content management business, or educational products and services, or some other five-dollar phrase that hasn't been coined yet. This is an economic entity in flux if there ever was one, and the only thinking that even addresses reality occurs outside a box that isn't made of paper. Printing on paper will continue, of course, but as a small appendage of the real publishing action, which is already occurring in pixels, not pages.
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