The birth of the great is often marked by cosmic events, a star in the East, an eclipse, a meteor shower. Imagine my joy as I woke up on my birthday to find the moon, Mars, Saturn and Jupiter in a straight line pointing directly at ME. I was a part of the tradition that included Buddha, Jesus, Caesar and Sir Harry Percy…Hotspur himself. I could easily be convinced that I was one special fellow.

But then, the cards began to arrive. The first card I opened informed me the I was an “old fart” and as I continued to open the greetings, things did not get better. The second card showed an octogenarian in a ridiculous yoga pose below the question, “Can you do this …without farting.?” I expected some relief from all this flatulence when I opened the card from my loving wife. I was disabused of this hope when her card contained a litany oF “YOU’RE SO OLD’ jokes. My favorite was: you’re so old you were around when the Dead Sea was only sick.

I am the first to admit that I am no longer the “stud kicking the stall all night” (thanks to the Glimmer Twins) but I really didn’t feel ancient. Hell, I did my first half marathon at age 56 and I did 8 more after that. My eyes are not rheumy and I dare to eat a peach. One thing was perfectly clear: as we age our concerns become increasingly cloacal. The continuing reference to events of the bowels was not lost on me. Our organ recitals become more frequent and gastric events dominate.

Sobered by the reminders of my advancing age, I turned to some of my favorite authors for solace. Dr Seuss offered: ” Today you are you, that is truer than true. there is no one alive that is Youer than You. ” That helped a bit. The You that is me chose to concentrate on the well wishes of the people dearest to me. They all chimed in to give me the feeling that I meant something to them. Signs and portents aside, I had meant something to some people and there is nothing better than that.

So thanks to all my dear ones for their birthday wishes. I hasten to remind them of the wisdom of Pablo Picasso… “it takes a long time to become young.”

I am working on it.

This was not our first mission, not new to us. The scope of the operation was well known and hard experience gave us more than a little confidence. We were also aware that no plan survives initial enemy contact. We would have to adapt and overcome to come out of this one unscathed.

H-hour was 13:00 hours so we were grateful to have a few hours to prepare. We did the first of several equipment checks and covered our hands in chemical protectants. We taped down anything that would make a noise and pulled on our gloves while the split second timing of the raid replayed itself in our minds. The low hum of our urban fighting vehicle was both soothing and a grim reminder of what was ahead of us.

As we approached the building, a winding series of interwoven perimeters showed the depth of security around the facility but we navigated this maze without incident. At the entrance our ID was immediately accepted with a grunt by a person behind plexiglass. I noted the vest the sentry wore…kevlar?..I couldn’t tell. We had hand-held communicators to coordinate our progress.

I was to take the right side of the site, while my partner took the left. My progress was unhindered but in no time at all, my partner was in a real meat market. There were body parts everywhere legs, ribs, thighs. Comms crackled: “moving to your sector. Give me a sit-rep.” I quickly responded that everything was ok in my area. We met in an area of greenery where personnel were moving surreptitiously through a forest of leafy greens and other fauna; pineapples, berries and more.

We hooked up and moved slowly down a path where we saw bottles of red fluid – blood? and multiple containers of drugs. This was a complex site and we were close to getting everything we needed. It was time to extricate. We would have to pass a gauntlet of officials to get to the free air outside. Our training helped us here and the transactions with the uniforms were smooth.

In a flash, we were back in our vehicle moving slowly out of the danger zone. On the ride back to base my partner and I realized that there was more for us to do in the future but, for now this success was enough. I turned to my wife and said, ” you did well but I hate going to Costco.”

My wife looked at me with the gaze of a veteran and simply said…

“Affirmative.”

The other night – the night of the pink super moon – I looked up from the book I was reading to find that my wife was missing. Startled, I looked around the house and even checked the garage to see if she had taken the car. Numerous scenarios flashed through my mind from the possibility of her defying the stay at home orders to pick up some ice cream; to the possible fact that she had left because of my repeated, failed efforts to pick up my socks. Finally, I figured it out. She is a photographer and the moon had risen. I found her in the middle of the street with her camera on a tripod. She was poised, bent behind the eyepiece as cars made wide arcs around her.

Photographers are a rare breed. Photography is the first “modern media,” the first photograph on record was shot in 1826 by a Frenchman – one Joseph Niepce – and since that day practitioners of the art abound. We waited more that 50 years for the radio and the phonograph to come along but we could capture a frame that had the power of a gut punch. A few years later in America the work of Matthew Brady and Alexander Gardner brought the carnage of of Antietam and Gettysburg to the front steps of Americans who otherwise would be unaware of the horrors of war. Photography had power. As Alfred Stieglitz once observed, “in photography, there is a reality so subtle that it becomes more real than reality. ” Subtle, yes and incredibly impactful.

My wife is an exceptional shooter and she can bore you with talk about light, composition, clarity, the rule of thirds and a host of other technicalities that lead to an exceptional shot. What she does possess in addition to technical ability is the eye for the soul of the image. Her pictures speak to you…they evoke. There are different types of photographers and their genres are often different. There are nature shooters, adventure, portrait, studio, chroniclers and war correspondents but this only describes what corner of the field they are cultivating. The central issue is whether or not their pictures have th X-factor I call soul. Photos that are technically perfect but are lacking in soul, will move no one. She has that feel.

Rosenthal’s flag raising, Eisenstadt’s Time Square Kiss, Adams’ El Capitan and the portraiture of Arbus and Liebowitz all are iconic because they capture the reality that is, ” so subtle.” They speak to us through our pores and we instantly understand. Aestheticians often debate whether photography is an art or a craft but this becomes moot if a great photographer has just knocked you on your ass. Like any art, photography has it rigors and ways to separate the hobbyist from the true practitioner.

The differentiator is in the form of a question : “how far will you go to get the shot?” Yesterday my wife showed me a photograph made by adventurer, Jimmy Chin. Jimmy is wired to the outside of “the needle” on top of the World Trade Center. He is tied in by a number of lines and carabiners and swings out over Manhattan to get the shot. If art takes guts, photography is art and Jimmy is an artist.

The next time I hear a “bump in the night,” I’ll just assume that my wife is out getting the shot. She will be working in the spirit of Dian Arbus who said it best:
” taking pictures is like tiptoeing into the kitchen late at night and stealing Oreo cookies.”

My wife has quite the sweet tooth.

People often make the mistake of thinking that “apocalypse” refers to some final calamity, some cosmic unavoidable cataclysm. I have heard major media outlets and politicians misuse the word in this way. In fact, the Greek word means revelation, a sudden dramatic act of vision. During our current apocalypse, many things are revealed including spin, dis-information, second agendas and many acts of heroism and dedication…it is a confusing series of sights.

Two things have become clearer to me. One is that there is a vast socio-cultural network of politicians, journalists, religious leaders and marketers of all sorts that are sparing no energy or expense in an effort to tell me exactly what I should think and feel. These are the opinion engineers and they are the direct opposite of revelation and they rely on our cultural education. The pressure for “right thinking” and fitting in are their allies and the pressure they exert changes one’s honest reactions as inexorably as ocean pressures change the beautiful lines of a lost ship into an unrecognizable mass of twisted parts. The result is a bit grotesque and no truth is to be found.

We also contribute to the transmogrification. A heady mix of what we want to believe and what seems “fitting” obscures our vision. Much of the deformation has to do with our own strange views of ourselves. We add volume to the chorus of those that would influence us by asking ourselves things like, ” what will the neighbors think ” or “that just isn’t done” or “how does this effect me’; we lose perspective and we lose the sense of personal tragedy that is all around us.

It is, of course, easier to conform with certain narratives that tell us it will be over soon and it’s not so bad after all. We conceal much of our alarm and grief because we are daily being told to do so. When the truth is told, a storm of gaslighting, decision and isolation is often the result. The “agreeing machines” are humming and we are all asked to get on board the train of half-truths that they manufacture.

Kurt Vonnegut once said, “so in the interests of survival, they trained themselves to be agreeing machines. All their minds had to do was discover what other people were thinking and then, they thought that too.” The current situation has pushed those that operate the agreeing machines to the point that we can not ignore them. Daily, we are presented with the patrty line as the heart breaking news piles up. Not allowing us to properly grieve is a sin in itself. The, “it will soon go away” crowd hopes that we will fall in line.

The second revelation is more positive. There actually are those that tell us the truth and let us deal with that truth without spin. They have the guts to think for themselves and the good sense to avoid a glossing over with a deluge of Hallmark Messages. They are not scammers but vessels of truth. They are scientists.

So here’s to those that think for themselves and insist on the primacy of their own, true feelings. The doctors, the medical staffs, various Governors and others have thrown a monkey wrench into the cogs of the agreeing machine. I will listen to their words to clarify a vision of what’s really going on.

Their candor will save many lives.

Teams are important to me. I’ve been on them, put them together, read team building books, conducted OTAs and looked at their dynamics through a microscope. All teams seem to have their own dynamics and their own unique members…there is no real formula for making them. Nevertheless there seems to be some consistent personality types on every team. These are the people that become the stout building blocks of the team culture.

The Gang of Eight have many essential types in their midst. I can identify seven of these types that are essential to team success. Long term high performance almost requires that you have these essential six contributors.

The first is the “lovable smartass.” This team member is the one you can rely upon to bring the humor that smooths rough roads and makes going further possible. This player has good timing and a better than average wit…a well placed gibe or pun cuts through the back breaking weight of performance and hard work. As Andrew Carnegie observed, “there is little success where there is little laughter.” This person brings the fun. The Gang of Eight has at least two of these.

Next comes the historian. This is the team member who remembers everything with a focus on past successes, the one who, “remembers when.” The message is, we have been here before …and we won. This person brings perspective. The can- do attitude often lives in the historian.

Third is the thinker…the “what if ?” guy. This player brings alternatives and possibility. This is one who says, “what if we bunt here.” This is the person who suggest things that are not obvious and brings the reward of new experiences and interpretations.

Fourth is the captain. This honor falls on a person almost without discussion…often it is the “old hand” who brings a richness of experience that can not be overlooked. These people bring confidence. His/her demeanor is enough to suggest that the team possesses a wealth of capability and that no surprise will be unforeseen.

Fifth is the entertainer. Closely related to the smartass, this person is a quick wit but a genuine storyteller. The wit is a rapier and the entertainer is a Claymore both are razor sharp but they cut differently. In good times and bad, this person brings engagement. Often stories told seem to have little relationship to what is happening in the moment but-over time- the entertainer’s narratives create a team culture.

Finally, there is the “ironman,” the person who takes a position every day without having to be asked or cajoled. This person is always willing. Willing to listen, withstand the attacks of the smartasses and perform the essential service of treating all teammates with respect. This player is the foundation of the group, the one who always does the job.

I have seen these types on every successful team I’ve been around. There are other types, of course, but a good collection of these types are indicators of what becomes a good team. Fortunately, The Gang of Eight has one of each of these. Further, we are blessed by at least two smartasses. They know who they ARE.

The gang agrees with Darwin,” in the long history of humankind (and animal kind too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.”

In these hard times I hope you are on a good team and that you play to win.

For more than twenty years I was a baseball coach. In that time, I was involved in thousands of nuanced situations (first-and-thirds, double steals, defensive alignments). I was forced to remember rules and facts (the 13 ways to balk, the six kinds of bunt we taught, pitching grips). At the end of my career, I was only able to identify two “rules” that were indisputable facts. These were two truths that can not be denied; 1) if something is not fun we will quit doing it… we will go to great, even ethically dubious, lengths to stop the activity and 2) repetition is the road to mastery. These two truths were manifest in almost every practice drill. Taking 100 ground balls or laying down 50 practice bunts proved the axioms beyond doubt.

Repetition is the bedrock of excellence and it is fortunate that humans are wired for it. Everything from walking to the mantras of a Buddhist monk are natural, repetitive exercises that lead somewhere. Repetition can also be incredibly boring as the stab at the 90th ground ball makes clear but mastery will come if the reps are intentional and the spirit is willing. I’ve seen the surprise on the face of the third baseman who made a backhand stab that he – himself – thought was impossible. The old adage, “if you fail to practice, you practice to fail” is true, beyond doubt. As my marathoning wife once said, “if you do the training, you will do the race.” Repetition and finding the fun in it pays huge dividends.

Today, in 92128, our normal lives are gone and we must find ways to master that fact. For me, repetition is the way. Daily walks, daily talks, daily reading, daily cooking…all contribute to the establishment of a new normal. When these activities become boring, I realize that the next challenge is to find the fun. I helped my wife teach a running class some time ago and a young woman runner, whose pace for the marathon was calculated at five hours was discouraged and certain that she could not sustain the necessary physical energy to endure a five hour period. I asked her if she was in love. She was. I then asked her if she knew the song “I could have danced all night.” She did. Then I asked her if she could do that with the object of her affections. She could. A light went on… if you perceive a task as an onerous job, you will fail; if you see the fun in it you will be astounded when your efforts pay off. You can actually do what you thought would defeat you.

So, I am currently committed to the dual tasks of performing repeated positive acts and finding the fun in them. I expect to find that I can do things I never thought possible.. like surviving the counter-intuitive state we are now in.

My wash-rinse-repeat program is in full bloom. I hope yours is too. Like I used to say on the ball field RUN IT AGAIN.

Repetition

The Gang of Eight has started a new tradition in response to social distancing. At 5:00 pm every day the gang members sit before their computers for a ” virtual cocktail hour.” Today was the beginning of week three and it started me noodling about the qualities and factors that make a good conversation. Most of the gang would agree with the Marquis de Sade that, ” conversation, like certain portions of the anatomy, always runs more smoothly when lubricated.” The session begins with the hoisting of glasses and the lack of the traditional clink that comes from crystal tapping together is not missed at all.

As the conversation develops the qualities that are essential to the exercise become manifest. Ideas lead the way and politics, history and philosophy make brief appearances. Personal revelations, both factual and emotional are shared as the experiences of each family and friends are shared. Humor is always present as puns, put-downs and jokes are launched into the cyber stream. The jokes often take the form of good natured ribbing, plays on words and dopey facial expressions appear.

Good listeners are present, too. There is patience with whatever one wants to talk about…no matter how pedestrian or incidental. Often, I will test the patience of the gang with a flurry of factoids that might include etymology or obscure historical anecdotes. In a display of tolerance only a few of the participants put their fingers down their throats.

The whole exercise happens in a safe space between people who have regard for each other and as we search for connection in the time of distancing the Happy Hour is something to look forward to. Perhaps the best thing about it is that fact that it has no designed purpose other that teasing the time away.

As the days of apartness mount, good conversation will mean more and more to us. It is easy time and it is sustaining. It is also a release of stress and anxiety. As Mark Twain once advised, ” let us make a special effort to stop communicating with each other, so we can have some conversation.” Call the people you love the most and have one of these unbounded conversations. It will do everyone good.

Cheers

Those of us who are isolating for the greater good suddenly have time in an amount we never had before. The crosswords, sudoku, jigsaw puzzles and novels are out on our tables and I think this surplus of time makes us uniquely uncomfortable. Our attitude to time and its use is informed by many forces including our Protestant work ethic, our religion and the awareness of our own mortality. I wonder if it is even possible to waste time.

Our culture tells us that an investment of time should produce a profit. if you sit at the piano long enough your ability to play Chopin is the payoff. If you show up to work and perform your tasks a check will reflect your time and its perceived value. We are bookkeepers of time and we expect a robust return on our investment. Sloth is one of the seven deadly sins. Our religious teachers tell us that the proper use of time will get us closer to god. Finally, we see our lives as a limited run and we commit to seeing countries, mastering everything from the piccolo to golf and other achievements before our time runs out.

Is it really possible to waste time? Bertrand Russel once quipped ” the time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” I agree. Whether you are a cancer researcher or a bird watcher who can say that you have wasted your time. Cancer wins and birds migrate… If it hadn’t started to rain Noah would have been the largest time waster ever. From Aesop to Ben Franklin and on to our own day we are constantly reminded to save our pennies for that rainy day.

Often we spend too much time in the search for perfection. We exhaust ourselves – and others – by our demands on their time. There is a better way.

Emerson said it well: This time, like all times is a very good one, if only we but know what to do with it. ” The hard chargers and the goal setters spend their time like currency; they make down payments on the future. Others just don’t roll that way. They chase the butterflies. So, enjoy your time and if you play solitaire or take up a hobby I – for one- will not judge. I like the wisdom of Mark Twain: ” never put off until tomorrow the thing you can do the day after tomorrow.”

OOH ! I just saw a butterfly.

The main activity in 92128 is walking, a solo sport – if your social distancing – and an available outlet for anxiety and cabin fever. In normal times, there are many fewer walkers and some of those are legendary, like Walking John and my wife who gets four to five miles in every morning. These storied walkers no longer stand out as they blend into the newly formed crowd. Today’s walkers span the spectrums of age, body type and style. Everyone from the obese to the nonagenarian is racking up the miles.

Thoreau once told us that, “an early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day” and the 92128 folks are buying in.

When I was a bit younger I destroyed my back in a series of overexertions and other stupid moves. Then I married a marathoner and knew that I must do a race now and then to be a part of the scene. Walking was my only choice for cohesive forward movement, so I started to train for half marathons. I read about pace, form, nutrition and training plans. In short order, I had completed nine races in three Western states. I learned to read the road, lean into the hills and persevere through eighteen weeks of training. I met wonderful people for whom distance walking was a way of life.

The type of walking I do today is less focused and much less intense. There is no point-to-point mandate …no finish line. Timing is also different because speed – other than maintaining a healthy pace – is not a factor. There are no medals. That is not as important as how long we remain upright and moving. What we walk away from and what we walk toward is, of course, the story of our lives in the most elemental way.

The 92128 walkers are blessed by stunning flowers, bizarre and beautiful succulents and the occasional coyote sighting. Friends who meet by chance, dutifully cross the road to maintain proper distance as they shout hellos and good wishes to each other. It is a SCENE. As you move in a way that mimics the firing of your brain from left to right again and again, a meditative state is not hard to come by. Time warps as pleasant sensations grow. We have some friends who own a running gear store and they tell us that the senior walker market is growing every day. No surprise given the benefits received.

So I sit on my porch and watch 92128 in motion. It is one of the few benefits we have from our current circumstances. We are all getting something out of it… a little peace, a deeper breath and if we go long enough a nice endorphin dump. In a real way we are achieving something even if it’s only a cure for cabin fever. You must go out and get it – it will not be delivered to your door. As Yogi Berra once said, ” I’m not going to buy my kids an encyclopedia. Let them walk to school like I did.”

Don’t be late for class.

During the transition from the late Middle Ages to the Renaissance a very important idea took shape in the Western World. Chivalry was a concept created by religious and literary figures to formalize what was best and “noble” in human nature. As the idea evolved the notion of the “perfect knight” took form and damsel saving and dragon slaying became the order of the day. The perfect knight possessed the qualities of courage, courtesy, honor and justice; the job of the knight was to protect and serve the weak.

Writers about chivalry came up with the idea of the Nine Worthies – three persons from each of three traditions. Pre-Christian worthies were Hector, Alexander the Great, and Julius Caesar. The Christian worthies were King Arthur, Charlemagne and Godfrey of Bouillon. From the Jewish tradition Joshua, King David and Judas Maccabeus were cited. With these paragons-and paradigms- in place humans had a clearer path to personal nobility.

Today we seem to think that ‘”chivalry is dead.” It seems like an idea from another age. We see people holding doors or helping old folks across the street and we think that these simple acts are chivalrous. At this exact moment, we are seeing chivalry return at a much higher level. We see health care workers contesting with the dragon of illness on behalf of the weak. Courage, honor and a sense of mission are motivating the best among us and their quest is marked by great danger. Great tenacity and great altruism is their answer. These men and women are heroes on the scale of Lancelot and Hector… they put their lives on the line for a noble cause.

The actions of these people give us hope and their place in history is assured. Each of us will have our own list of worthies before this particular dragon is subdued. These people are the embodiment of the chivalric ideal. They are heroes that remind us that chivalry is not dead. As Charles Kingsley once said, ” The age of chivalry is never past so long as there is a wrong left unredressed on earth.”

Carry on, great ones !!.