The Ocean

I grew up with the smell of the ocean in my nostrils daily. It was in the air, the fog... it was in my soul. Not that I am a mariner who wants to go to sea and spend weeks and months at a time. But the ocean is every bit a part of me as a true mariner. I saw the ocean each day of my life growing up in San Diego. I just had to look west. I have great memories of the beach, the waves, the sand, the people, the fires, the laughter. The ocean was spring break, summer, music; a happy, active, energetic time of my life.

...I live in the mountains now.

I miss the ocean. I am Pisces. I have an intrinsic love of water. Pisces are governed by a duality, a struggle of the spiritual soul within the physical body. Two fish swimming in opposite directions... That's another blog completely. This is about the ocean.

The ocean invigorates me. It inspires me. It heals me. It makes me think bigger thoughts. It makes me want to throw off my self-imposed limits of thinking and accomplishment. It makes me want to be better, grow, succeed, reach-out, expand, create. The primordial soup is an elixir my soul welcomes and wantonly drinks. When I am physically in the ocean I feel my body absorbing it's strength and life. I can float and swim for hours. I dive and let it envelop me like caressing, caring, therapeutic hands. Each wave brings new feeling, new hope, new messages, rejuvenation, renewal.

I miss the ocean. I need the ocean. Of all the things I could think of doing right now, none would be as powerful, gratifying and healing as swimming against the oncoming waves of the ocean. I never actually swim against the waves. That's why I am good at it. I swim with them. I let them carry me, lift me, lower me, flow over and through me. It's a relationship, a dance. A giving and taking. I receive more than I give. I let the ocean wash the poison and pain away. Take with it the struggle and hurt. It allows me to walk away better and happier. With a few last kisses of my feet as I walk onto dry land.

The ocean is never innately angry. At times the ocean simply needs to throw off the anger and poison and self-defeat it has absorbed from people who have let her take it from us.

...I live in the mountains now.

Wall Street Wisdom

One of my favorite movies is the 1987 blockbuster "Wall Street". Well, maybe it wasn't a blockbuster. It was probably at best, a B+ movie. Even though Michael Douglas did win an Oscar for best actor in a leading role. The plot was simple. The characters predictable. I relate to the movie on a couple of levels. I spent time working on Wall Street. Although these characters are fictional, I have associated with the real people from which these characters were drawn. They do exist. I have worked with them. I have seen them in action. I have heard the speeches, seen the conflicts and felt the intense emotion evoked by being around that much money. The thing that I like most about the movie are the intriguing lines that have lived on beyond the movie itself. Many of these lines have come back to me throughout the years and I have used them as earmarks of conventional wisdom. For example:

Martin Sheen as Carl Fox. Blue collar aircraft worker as said to his son Bud Fox played by Charlie Sheen: "Stop going for the easy buck and start producing something with your life. Create, instead of living off the buying and selling of others."

Gordon Gekko, investor, corporate raider played by Michael Douglas in a speech at a shareholders meeting: "The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works."

Hal Holbrook as Lou Mannheim, Bud Fox's boss and mentor: "The main thing about money, Bud, is that it makes you do things you don't want to do."

And one of my favorite lines which seems to be echoing in my head of late.

Once again Hal Holbrook as Lou Mannheim to the young broker Bud Fox: "A man looks in the abyss, there is nothing staring back at him. At that moment he discovers his character. That keeps the man out of the abyss."

Many times I have felt like I was staring into an abyss. Never more than at this time in my life. The question I ask myself daily is; Will I discover my true character and will it prevent me from falling into that abyss?

I will have to dig deep. I will have to summon every ounce of personal strength and will power. I will have to look to God, and the support of friends and family. But I am committed to not fall into that abyss.

Imus

I must say this... I don't excuse Don Imus for demeaning remarks about The Rutgers Women's Basketball team. It was rude, it was wrong. But I am curious about a couple of things. It seems we have two champions of equality and crushing out racism in Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. They always appear at the forest fire like Smokey the Bear, except Smokey carries a can of water, Al and Jesse carry a can of gas. Whipping the fire into a frenzy and demanding the pendulum of inequality swing far to the other side. Swift and harsh punishment for the wrongdoers. A reminder to us ignorant folk that we still haven't climbed entirely out of the 60's. We have not fully realized Dr. Kings vision. (I have the utmost respect for Martin Luther King, his message and his humanity) In fact, it's interesting to think of what Dr. King would say to us in light of these events. I think it would be in sharp contrast to the Al and Jesse show.

I have a question. Someone please answer me. If Jesse and Al are so concerned with disparaging racial slurs and abusive verbal inhumanity to black women, why aren't they camped on every radio station doorstep that plays what has become known as Hip Hop? Screaming for boycotts of music stores that sell it. Have you listened to those lyrics lately? Have you viewed those videos lately? C mon' Jesse, Al. They make Don Imus look like Shakespeare. Where's the outrage? Where's the call to broadcasting for no play? For firings of the VJ's and DJ's that spin this blatant racism? Where's the rush of trampling feet of vacating advertisers from MTV and every radio station that promotes this kind of inhumanity to blacks and black women in particular? Speak up - Al, Jesse! Where's the outrage? Bitches and Ho's has become the new "N Word" for women. Where do you guess Don Imus first heard the term "Ho"? Could it have been a rap song? But I guess it's OK if it's propagated by black men. Someone help me here!

Duke Lacrosse Scandal

Over the past year I have followed with interest the Duke Lacrosse Scandal as it has become known. I have to weigh-in on the recent news that all charges have been dropped. For my part, I smelled a rat from the beginning. But I won't tell you, "I told you so." I wasn't there and I wasn't privy to all the evidence. We live in a country where the judicial system is based on the promise of a fair trial and you are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. What boils to the surface for me are two things, separate but related and tied to what we have become to know as "The Media". I am beginning to believe "the media" is the largest culprit. The media has become a forum for maverick and irresponsible influence peddling. The byword is "Spin". Mike Nifong , the prosecuting attorney should be hung from the rafters! Seizing a media frenzy he jumped at the opportunity to get votes for his upcoming campaign. Nifong lost sight of justice in attempt to appeal to a voting block. Doing the right thing may not be the convenient thing. Pandering to a minority vote that was justifiably enraged had the accusations been true. They too are at fault. The press represented the minority community standing outside the court screaming for a lynching before there was ever a trial.

The media early on turned this into a made for television movie. Journalist and newsrooms no longer motivated by truth but simply motivated by promoting careers and selling commercials. When the smoke cleared and wiser heads could step back and do the job the law of due process asks us to do the truth came out. The only winner here is justice. Every real person involved is a loser. The American public is a loser for having been dragged through this mud. The media once again proves to be delinquent in selling a spin cloaked in the constitutional guaranty of free press. Duke University is a loser. The Duke Lacrosse team is a loser. The victim is a loser. The community is a loser and now further polarized. The falsely accused are certainly the biggest losers of all. This has changed the course of their lives forever and not for the better. They were innocent....but were they?

Here is the lesson to all of us. Was there an appearance of evil? Was there a frat party flush with alcohol? Were strippers hired? Was there an atmosphere and occasion for a false accusation to be created and inflamed? Some would say this is just what college boys do. This is just part of the college experience. Far from true. I hope my boys don't make this behavior part of their natural and normal college experience. Hopefully my boys are better than that. Hopefully yours are too. It wasn't innocent behavior or an innocent atmosphere. It was ripe for bomb to go off. And it did. Unfortunately it went off in the faces of otherwise good men. It affected a lot of lives negatively. We are taught to avoid the appearance of evil. What goodness and positive life experience will come from a party of flowing alcohol and strippers. Call me prudish, call me moralistic. Call me whatever you like. It doesn't matter what the current spin on college life by the media would have you believe. When the smoke clears and wiser heads step back and the evidence is considered .... what good came of this?

My Favorite Songs

A friend of mine told me about a website that I could download songs for listening on my computer. These are free. Not the pay for play iTunes; but Share360 - kind of like the old Napster. My children have filled their iPods with songs and I am welcome to listen to their choices on my home computer or borrow their iPods. But the fact of the matter is I am 54, they are teenagers. We have different tastes in music. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of songs on the radio today that I like. But if I had a choice of favorite songs it would be those songs from when I was a teenager.

Why is that? Because there is more to a favorite song than just the melody and a beat. A favorite song is defined by it's emotional signature. It's a song that pinpoints a feeling or a time in our life. Many of those where when I was a teenager - late 60's early 70's. Or when I was a young adult and music was a daily part of my life, in my car, on my stereo (8 track to be exact). As I dated. When I met my wife to be. When I was in college living a simple married life. The music I listened to defines those times, those feeling. It seems as we grow older music is less a part of the times we experience. The music is replaced by the sound of children, and work and white noise. Not that we become less romantic or less drawn to the flame of music. It just becomes less important.

We simply drive around in welcome silence. If we do turn the radio on we listen to the news, talk radio, or the pre-programmed stations our kids have chosen. Then it happens. We stumble across a station and it's playing. We turn it up. Then we turn it up louder! We start singing the lyrics because we've sung them a thousand times. We start to move our heads, tap our hands on the steering wheel. We want to dance in the car. We are charged with emotion. We are once again taken to that place, in that moment, a long time ago. It is a magical emotional arousal. A physical and chemical awakening.

If someone is in the car with us and we say, "OH MAN, I love this song!" We turn it up. "This is one of my favorites!" Most likely they won't feel the same. Because they are just hearing a melody and a beat. They are not feeling the song the way we are. It's not taking them anywhere. My favorites are varied. Soft rock, hard rock, ballads, I don't discriminate. They have a common golden thread in the way they have intertwined with the fabric of my life's quilt. They have been with me through thick and thin. They will be my favorites until the day I die. Whether you like them is not important. They are my favorites!

The Curve Ball

I've spent a lot of time during my life standing in a batters box. Literally, as a young boy and a young man playing the game of baseball. Figuratively, as a man, father, husband, and employee. I've come to the conclusion that it's all about learning how to hit a curve ball!

There is nothing quite as intimidating as standing in a 4' x 6' chalked out piece of earth called a batters box. Not just standing in it, but adding the following variables make it really interesting. 60 feet 6 inches away is a person called a pitcher. This pitcher is preparing to throw a rawhide covered hardball about 3-1/2" in diameter as hard as he can in your direction. In fact, more than in your direction. He is trying to throw it into a little area called a strike zone. The strike zone is the space defined by a 17" wide "plate" on the ground in front of you whose height is loosely calculated from your armpits to your knees. The pitcher doesn't necessarily like you and he doesn't like the team you play for. On top of that, he wants you to look bad. You don't necessarily trust him, or his ability to throw the ball within the strike zone. This is not a good recipe.

Every logical bone in your body is telling you to move from where you are standing before you get seriously hurt. Hurling the ball straight at the strike zone is not good enough. At some point in baseball and baseball throwing history, someone invented the curve ball. The ability to spin the ball and make the air passing over the surface of the ball cause the ball to bend or curve. The amount of curve is dependant on one thing; the speed of the ball. (The novice here should understand that there is such a thing as a slow curve and a fast one) The pitcher places his index and middle fingers parallel to the red stitching on the ball. At the top of his throwing arc the pitcher snaps his wrist hard and downward. This produces a spinning push on the ball, causing the ball to curve when it interacts with the oncoming air pressure. OK - enough of the scientific chatter.

I repeat, the pitcher doesn't like you. His goal is to have you swing and miss 3 pitches and then set your sorry butt back down in the dugout. The curve ball is the equalizer. When it is thrown correctly to a left-handed batter from a left-handed pitcher, it looks like it is being thrown from first base. The idea here is to stay in the batters box. Don't let your mind tell you that the ball is coming from first base and looks like it is going to hit you right in the ribs. You have to forget all the logical signals. Ignore the minds inner protection devices and not respond to the nerve wrenching signal your brain is screaming to the rest of your body, "GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!"

You have to trust this person called a pitcher. Trust what you know about a curve ball and trust that it will ultimately end up out in front of you in the strike zone. At this point a couple of things can happen. You can engage your arms and legs into a twisting motion to bring the bat down and make contact with the ball. Hopefully hitting the ball straight back at the pitcher to let him know you don't like him either. Understand that this decision process has to take place in a nano second. The other thing is that it isn't a curve ball at all and your trust in the pitcher who hates you is misplaced. At that point the ball will hit you somewhere. Again, this is mind over matter. It's just a baseball. It only weighs about 5 ounces. It's only travelling at 80 or so miles an hour. You have a helmet on to prevent a "death-blow". What's the downside here?

I'll tell you the downside. It's a welt on your leg or back that will finally disappear after a week or two once it goes through a metamorphosis of color changes that encompass the entire rainbow. It is definitely a spot you don't want to touch for awhile or get poked or hit there again. But the real problem is the bruise it will put in your confidence. You just might want to listen to your brain when it shouts, "BAIL!!!!" next time a curve ball is approaching. You may move your back foot or interrupt the twisting motion. You may do a number of things that will cause you to never hit another curve ball solidly in your life. You may let your experience rent space in your head and bail on every curve ball in the future. You may never understand or have the confidence that you can actually hit a curve ball out of the park.

You have to hang in there. You can't listen to the wrong voices. Sometimes you have to go against everything logic is telling you. Stay planted. Keep your feet firm. Twist. Extend. Put the wood on it! CREAM IT! .... And if it hits you... it's just a welt. It will go away.

As for me; I've knocked a few out of the park.... and yes a few have left some serious welts.