Tannishblog

I’ve heard it said that bloggers should specialize to maximize readership. Something about search engine functions and results usually follow. Increased traffic is the ultimate goal, isn’t it? Every one wants to be like Kos.

Not really. While I would like a bit more people to visit regularly, I feel having hoards of readers to be a big responsibility. Soon, it would become a burden as my concern over continued edification, edutainment and enlightenment of virtual masses foreshadow my family life, work life, then life in general. I wish not to become a target for the likes of Bill O’Reilly.

Besides, I’m no specialist. I’m a well-rounded guy. If you could see me stomach these days, you’d agree. Lacking formal edu-ma-kation, I learn haphazardly of many subjects.  My father would say I possess a "smattering of ignorance," (but I’m showing off my issues again… ) Many things interest me, and I like to share them. Mostly, I like to write, to string words together about whatever comes to mind - stream of consciousness stuff. Even stupid things like this post.

If others read this I’m happy. If they return for more, I’m happier. Isn’t the point of life to pursue happiness? To anyone reading: Thank you.

I got a book over the holidays: John Lennon In His Own Words by Ken :Lawrence. It’s a nice but spare collection of quotes from a man I’ve always admired. One quote in particular made me climb out of the recliner to share with my wife.

"Our society is driven by neurotic speed and force, accelerated by greed and the frustration of not being able to live up to the image of men and women we have created for ourselves - an image which is nothing to do with the reality of people. How can we be [an] eternal James Bond or Twiggy and raise three kids on the side? So we pass our kids on to babysitters, nursery and high school teachers - three of the most underpaid positions in our society!…In such an image driven culture, a piece of reality like a child becomes a threat to our very false existence."

–first of a regular column written by John and Yoko,
Sundance magazine. April-May 1972.

Truth is timeless, isn’t it?

I was a bit too young to live Beatlemania. I came to musical awareness a couple years after the group disbanded. In sixth grade I met a guy named Paul who uncannily mimicked McCartney’s voice. Since then I cannot listen to "My Love" by Wings without hearing my friend Paul’s voice crack in the high parts. We both were of that age…He taught me a Liverpublian accent and we used to pretend to be John and Paul for a while. We both took up guitars, his left handed, and mimed to records and such. For me it was the last fling of childhood before the onset of puberty and all attendant complications. Some of the good memories, that.

Since then, I have gathered a modest collection of Beatle books and read them all. To my family, I’m a bit of an expert. I’ve taught myself guitar from their songbooks, learned songwriting from their example, enriched my life through such efforts. To hear their music, all I need is to concentrate, they’re stored forever in my synapses. As I typed the preceding sentence, "Anytime At All" cued up in my head… "All you gotta do is call / And I’ll be there…" As my daughter grew, I made sure to instill a love of Beatles in her heart. She’s collected all the British recording in CD, and I’m proud. A bit of a personal legacy she may share in her future. Let the music live on…

These days I don’t obsess anymore. It’s a gentle, mature kind of fandom, but John and his mates are still a part of me. Amazing, really - I never met him - how a single person can alter history, affect so many people and infect them with fond memories. It’s magic.

Another week and another missed Friday Night Zen. But I was working on it, honestly, by trying to maintain an observer’s outlook during the evening.

Last night we gathered at my in-law’s house for the last day of Hanukah. What ensued looked a great deal like my family’s past Christmas celebrations. Besides the missing tree not crowding the parlor, similar details were present; too much food, occasional crabbiness, the whine of the caged dog and the shouts and perpetual motion of the children sometimes reaching unhealthy decibel levels. Even the piles of gifts in bright paper were there. All the sleepless nights and extra errands of the past few weeks lay on the floor in shiny bundles that were shredded with abandon in minutes. We soon packed up out new treasures and left: all done! (Today, I look at the stuff, just as I always do afterward, and wonder why.) The emotional texture was the same as ever, whatever we call our celebration.

I’m reminded of a moment a year ago when, near the end of a long drive with a coworker, we passed a highway-side business decorated with the glowing words: "Peace To All Faiths."

"How nice," I said, indicating the inclusive message.

My passenger, perhaps showing his fatigue from the long day, grumbled, "What’s wrong with ‘Merry Christmas?’ " Showing his bible college credentials, he was genuinely offended by what he saw as a "generic" quality of the greeting. His upbringing taught his to see such things as attacks upon Christianity. I see them as an attempt at dissolving exclusionary tendencies in the Christmas tradition in America. Perhaps we’re both right.

Every culture has developed some celebration of the onset of winter. Religioustolerance.org has kindly aggregated them for us. Even Buddhism has a winter holiday, although it’s incidental. The need for cultures to honor the turning of the seasons is not just a religious phenomenon. By perusing the list of solstice celebrations, I get a sense of it being more about humanity than about anyone’s religion.

I admit to a personal grudge against the exclusionary tendencies of Christians. My extended family was not too thrilled when I married a Jew, and years later were prone to giving our daughter gifts of Christian theme whenever we tried to be part of the family. Even today, my sister tries to bully her daughter in-law - a professed iccan -into hosting Christmas. The tendency is to believe that Christmas is their holiday, not part of a tradition that spans cultures, that is older than Jesus, or that has been largely co-opted by Christians for reasons of assimilating the masses.

Why does is surprise that in our Great Melting Pot of a nation, people of different extracts wish to be recognized? Why must we only acknowledge one set of rules in this one instance within a plural society? How do educated people justify their aversion to practicing brotherhood on what is to them the holiest day of the year? Christmas is not about Jesus, it’s about being productive members of humanity. To these people, I shout: "It’s not your holiday alone!"

To all my friends and neighbors still anticipating their big day: Live Peace. Join with your loved ones and expand your love to strangers. Give not only to your group, but to others as well. Share time, the most precious commodity; share humanity, the common denominator; Produce Joy and Enact Peace. Above all, recall our shared human heritage. These are the things Jesus would expect of us.

I was asked today about why I left Christianity. I didn’t have to think too hard on it, but I remembered to apologize in advance if I inadvertently offended while answering.

I left my family’s heritage as Northern European Lutherans as a teen when the pastor read what I later recognized as a canned sermon against the peace sign. this was circa 1973, the heyday of Vietnam protesting and not too far removed from the summer of love, 1967. Much of hippydom was still in the air then. Yet my Pastor, to who I’m supposed to look for spiritual wisdom, was delivering a political diatribe cloaked in religiosity toward a growing political movement of the day: the peace sign was a "broken cross turned upside down" which by it’s very existence denoted an anti-Christian sentiment. It was to be shunned and all good Christians should disassociate from any connection to the hated symbol.

I remember leaving the church that hot Sunday shaking my head. I was still too green to shout "Bullshit!" yet what I was feeling was in line with such outbursts. I decided then that the church was not the place for me. I never went back.

These days I can flesh out my feelings through retrospection. What keeps me away from the church is a tendency I see to preach hatred, intolerance and blind acceptance to the "flock." As Galileo aptly stated: " I find it hard to countenance that the very God that bestowed upon us the gifts of intellect and reason should want us to forego their use." Indeed.

This trend toward isolationism and intolerance has been played out in recent years in politics after 1994 when the Christian Coalition became the Republican Majority Congress. Since then we have seen hate, white supremacy, and intolerance drive an entire political framework with special emphasis on foreign policy. We’ll be cleaning up this mess for decades.

On a smaller scale, we can see how Christians sometimes attack each other. CNN reports today how one homeowner in a Denver subdivision is being fined $25 a day for a peace-sign shaped Christmas wreath on her house. What the article hasn’t the balls to note, I will infer here: The subdivision is all white. They are mostly Christians of the protestant variety, i.e. Methodists or Baptists. Most drive late model SUV’s or pickups. Most hail from smaller communities. The report did mention that some were military families.

Racial profiling? Stereotyping? You bet! I’m using the same twisted logic used against this neighbor of theirs. A peace sign as a symbol of Satan! Get a life! I freely admit a hole in my tolerance toward Christians. I’ve been accused of this and it’s true: I cannot abide when good people spend most of their spiritual energy thinking about Satan’s Worldly Evil ™, and not the actual teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. Religion is about becoming better people, not about closing one’s mind and becoming nasty. Those who forget that are lost sheep indeed.

No Friday Night Zen this week. Our daughter was performing in her high school’s jazz band last night. A long and enjoyable concert. She impressed me with what she’s learned the only a half year. Being a failed rock musician, I’m especially tickled at her new skills on the electric bass. (note to self: sort that thought under "Living Vicariously.")

They practice a lot, asking much out of the kids. Niles North Fine Arts Department has a reputation to uphold in the fine arts department, and they take their ambitions out on the students. The students rise to the occasion consistently and last night was no exception. While not quite a polished performance, it was impressive. Mostly the sound tech crew needs work. I’m confident all will be resolved for the next performance.

So my Zen lesson was to support the consequences of my actions in the form of supporting my offspring and the community I choose to live in. Also to ponder the amazing capacity of humanity to pursue non-violent expression and to build community. How refreshing!

Life is like a maze. You know there’s a way through, but there’s no map. Not only that, but once your in, there’s only one way to go - forward. And at every corner, and there are many, there’s no telling what you’ll find.

As I have stumbled with trepidation through my personal maze, moments of clarity sometimes occur. Occasionally I turn the corner to find a whole new, unexpected path in front of me. These moments are forever imprinted on the mind. One such turning happened 16 years ago today. I had been preparing for it for months, so I thought, but one cannot prepare for an event outside one’s experience.

Sixteen years ago, I stood bewildered and nervous in a birthing ward while my wife delivered our daughter. No sleep for two days, high on caffeine and endorphins, holding my wife’s hand while watching her experiencing pain akin to organ failure, and now a red, mewling - something - clasped firmly to a breast. To see her and her new wet bundle literally sent me into a shock. I don’t know how I got home that evening.

My next semi-lucid moment came when I was busy assembling a crib with the help of a concerned cat, when the phone rang. She was - they were - ready to come home. I shot out the door and across town to retrieve them. Enough of the shock wore off by then that as the hospital elevator opened and glanced up, I noticed how different things were. I had turned the corner.

Gaining a child is not unlike loosing a hand. Both are life-altering events. Both force one to readjust to the entirety of life, not just a portion, and all future decisions are determined as viewed against this new criteria. This is an new maze, now.

To speak of the joys of parenting, or any other overworked cliche, just doesn’t convey the reality. Parenting - the act of being a parent - is literally the meaning of life. Life is purposeless otherwise. To nurture, love, guide a new spirit until they can take wing, is the essence of humanity. There is no greater challenge, no duty of higher importance than to allow your progeny to flourish by neither pushing nor holding back. And there is no higher reward than to see a child morph into a sensible, sensitive young adult.

The next corner, I assume, is when our daughter packs off to college. Her wings will get their workout then. I’ll know, when the shock wears off and I take note of the tiniest details, that the next segment of the maze will be revealed.

Only two years from now… She’ll be ready: that’s obvious. But will I?

(Below, an existential description of my state of mind - an attempt at poetic art. A failed meditation session is not always a failure, if one is aware of it. Whenever my mind travels back into my unpleasant  past, whenever I lose the present moment, equilibrium escapes me. Sometimes that is the lesson for the day.)

Darkened room slowly lightening.
Another gray dawn.
I stumble into a favorite chair,
clinging to a vapor of leftover dreams.
Night dreams turn to day dreams,
turning into memories:
Ancient angers, lost loves,
missed opportunities.

It’s the weather. Three days of rain,
flooding, hail, wind.
Autumn rushes back in force
losing no time.
I breathe, knowing I cannot focus.
Don’t fight, acknowledge,
this is today’s practice.
Tomorrow, the sun.

Happy Rosh Hashanah to all those inclined that way. Happy equinox for everyone, whether you care or not. For all others, TGIF.

Children have always amazed me. Contrary to my upbringing of "be seen and not heard," today’s version of parenthood is more inclusive. Maybe I speak only of myself, but it seems to me that if a child is encouraged to excel, reinforced with positive rewards for positive behavior, then that child will succeed. If a parent also allows the child to chose what to excel at, neither pushing nor resisting, then that child will exceed expectations in many areas. There is no limit on human capacity that a child cannot surmount - if allowed. Limits are enforced. The natural response is to first become defiant, then to give in. Thus many of my generation have learned to cave in to the status quo because humans like to take the path of least resistance.

In our current hyper-connected world, our teenagers are putting themselves on display through the Internet. Much has been pondered as the the relative safety of social networking sites like My Space, Xanga, and Faces. That’s because the establishment (read: old people who make rules) cannot understand them. Concerns abound regarding predators without the acknowledgement of how these agents of ill-will are from the very same group of old folks who cannot fathom the new technology. What we are afraid of, essentially, is our own generation’s hangups.

Parents should know their children’s web presence as they would any other aspect of their offspring. Your children’s blog or My Space profile page should be bookmarked and visited often. That said; I sometimes forget to check my daughter’s blog for weeks on end. Bad Papa! When I do visit, however, I’m always amazed. Unlike many, she chooses (wisely, I think) not to publish personal episodes of her life, but instead showcase her vivid imagination and her love of words: hers is a fiction site wherein she experiments with prose, and other forms of verbosity. Here’s a recent example that blew my socks off.

Enough of the proud parental boasting, already! Do you know what your kids are blogging? Do you encourage them to explore themselves through the medium that defines their lifestyles as much as television defines ours? Or, are you taken in by the scare tactics of media know-nothings and hold your children back? Their involvement in Internet culture cannot be held back; they will do so with or without permission. That is the world they live in, the world we made that they will inherit. Know who they are online. Embrace them, guide them without force as you would do with any other aspect of their upbringing. Let them shine.

Do all this and your children will amaze you, too.

I missed another Friday Night Zen post. While you may be ambivalent, these are important to me because it is one thing about this blog that may be unique. At least, I haven’t yet found anyone else doing such. Too, it is a great exercise for me to re-affirm my convictions ant to learn how to communicate such slippery concepts. It’s sort of like the Jehovah Witness’ practice of going door to door to proselytize, but less annoying.

To the (imagined) few who like reading my Friday posts, I apologize. You are out there, aren’t you? The other week, and again last night, I became involved in a project that, while overtly consumer focused, has a Zen-like calming affect in me: Disassembling and reassembling computers.

After three long years of squirreling away spare Hamiltons, I bought an impressive pile of computer guts and am trying to recreate Frankenstein. (Its’ much easier extracting electronic intestines that it is to insert them.) I’ll spare you the boring specs. Once that is done, I’ll try to use the older, still useful parts to upgrade other machines in the family, rebuild my Linux box, and generally delay paternal responsibility as much as I can.

The tired, old adage is true: "You can separate the men from the boys by the price of their toys…" I’m okay with that.

As a Liberal, I’m supposed to toe the line and get upset over the NSA’s domestic eavesdropping program. I just can’t. I have nothing to hide. Let them listen.

One of the hard lessons I’ve learned in my nearly half century is to "Pick your fights." One simply cannot go about angry and shrill over every little infraction real or imagined. Believe me; I’ve tried. The end result is that no one will listen at all so, when a really important issue comes along, you’re tuned out before you even begin.

Another lesson learned is, as my inner geek would say, it so "Improve your signal-to-noise ratio." This would involve thinking before speaking, remaining calm and rational, and actually having something of value to offer.

So because of these lessons and because the program just might save lives, I cannot get too excited about the whole thing. Besides, it is humanly impossible, and technologically infeasible to mine every word and inflection in the vast landscape of voice transmissions. What the NSA can find is patterns over time. So if your patterns show that you have a regular connection to your cocaine trafficker in Kenya, or some such, then you might want to be concerned. Whether that particular information was or was not gathered legally might be irrelevant in such an instance.

What might concern me - and the fight I would chose - is if the NSA or anyone else crashed my door down without a warrant in the dark of night. Regardless of how our government gets its data, it is more important how it reacts to the knowledge gained. Spy, if you must. As I said; I have nothing to hide. But when the time comes to act upon that information, do so legally.