I spent many years of my life with the IF and WHEN people.These are the folks who have every intention of being happy if certain conditions are in place or when some goal is reached. In short, these are the people who’re never happy; the folks that are in hot pursuit of happiness without realizing that the pursuit itself is the death of joy. Apollinare once said, ” now and then it is good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.” While this seems simple enough, it takes a complex set of mental gymnastics to overcome the conditions and skepticism that arises. First we must realize that all of the important things in life defy definition. I once challenged a friend to take three index cards and define three things in 25 words or less. The three were love, happiness and success. Of course he couldn’t…not to his own satisfaction. These are states of being and they change constantly. Often, today’s love, success and happiness are tomorrow’s loss, failure and misery.

Happiness is the ultimate moveable feast. It is no wonder that great writers have suggested that each state has a quality of madness built into it. Shakespeare says,”the lunatic, the lover and the poet are of imagination all compact.” Twain is more direct when he suggests that, ” sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.”

Then there is the old nemesis of well earned skepticism. After all there are always good reasons not to be happy, successful or in love. Can we enter these slightly mad states by pursuing them? Probably not. We can develop our benign madness, I think. We can lose our fear of being silly and lean into the absurdity of being happy now despite all of the world’s pains and trials.

Some years ago , I was waiting for an MRI after a cancer diagnosis and I must have looked a bit sad because an old fellow sitting next to me asked me what’s wrong. “I have cancer”, I said thinking that would explain everything. The old fellow broke out into a storm of laughter and I was angry. “I don’t see anything funny about that, ” I said and gave the old coot a scowl. His answer was the craziest -and most unexpected-thing that has ever been said to me . ” Son, I have cancer of the liver, cancer of the spleen and there are spots on my lungs, in my bones and in my brain…aint that a bitch !”His laughter increased as he told me this.

At the time I thought the man was crazy, rendered goofy by chemo and radiation. Later I realized that I was in the presence of an enlightened being who chose to be happy in spite of everything life could throw at him. He chose to be happy…and that was his madness.

As I sit here today, I am beginning to think that the insanity of happiness is a matter of choice. It is not the result of a pursuit and it doesn’t live in the mapped area of our day-to-day geography. It is a choice that we all have.

So we must cultivate our madness through play, willingness and a highly developed sense of the absurd. Right this minute , I am happy. I am drinking an excellent cup of coffee and listening to Solomon Burke…what could be better. Stay crazy as much as you can.

The quote from Alice in Wonderland perfectly describes the mood on Halloween in 92128. Age has not mellowed The Eight as we all scramble to complete our costumes for the halloween party on All SaintsEve. Clever crudities are being assembled on themed partyware and dry ice will smoke the punchbowl. There is excitement in the air.

We wear costumes because the souls of the dead roam the earth on this night and it is undoubtedly wise to travel incognito when supernatural beings are about. The economics of costuming has been studied and it was found that $2.6 billion dollars (2006) will be spent on Halloween hijinks. Costumes just make sense, both spiritually and economically. A recent trip to the costume store makes the economic aspects clear. You can get a plastic axe for $19.95 and a knock-off chainsaw for $25.00. Add fake mustaches, handcuffs, bloody hockey sticks and skeletal dogs that actually bark and the revenue stream is astounding. Revenue is boosted by popular culture as costumes from Steampunk to Pokeman and discredited politicians are among the big sellers.

Our 92128 group doesn’t require external motivation to gather and party but Halloween gives us a themed festivity…not just a drive-by for cocktails and dinner. We all seem to love the idea of being someone-or something- new for an evening. We love a chance to play.

No one loves this chance more than the little ones among us. Our grandson and his parents visited us during the Halloween madness and the reactions of this little boy were the best thing we will see on this holiday. He was not a grandson for a while… he was a Triceratops and he missed no chance to remind us of that fact. “I’m a Triceratops” he announced so that we wouldn’t miss the fact. He was a Triceratops, roaring and capering to our friend’s houses to fill his lighted plastic pumpkin with sweets and treats. In 92128, trick-or-treaters are rare and our little guy profited from this. At one house he got an entire bowl of candy at another he simply continued to take candy from the offered assortment until an adult intervened. He was a natural.

Triceratops also visited a pumpkin patch where he petted goats and sheep, took a tractor ride and burrowed into a pile of corn stalks in the corn maze. Hard to tell who had the most fun.

As our 92128 costume party looms speculation runs rife. What costumes will we see? What strange foods will be offered? What potions will be poured? Exciting.

The spirits of 92128 will roil and bubble and the play will be non-stop. The gang of Eight understand what Tim Burton once said, ” Every day is Halloween, isn’t it? For some of us.”

Absolutely.

In a moment of boredom-even ennui-I decided to go to the local 92128 Community Center where hot, bad coffee is available at thirty cents a cup. As I sipped the java, I noticed a fellow 92128 traveller swimming laps with a laser focus. As he crawled back and forth, I was dropped into a meditation on achievement. The battle with age and entropy, gravity and other laws of nature unfolded before my eyes, my mind was engaged with the idea of human aspiration. Humans are the only creatures that have GOALS and the only creatures that carry a working definition of achievement and the hope and aspiration that sets them on the road to their, “best performance.”

All of the gang of eight have their goals …some are lofty and some are not. One of the group is hoping to install a ceiling fan before it gets too hot; another is looking for a new car and others only hope to clean the house before they are buried in dust bunnies. Earlier in life the goals of The Eight were much loftier, I suspect, yet goal setting is as natural to humans as respiration and sleep….goals will never go away.

We have a hierarchy of goals that is based upon relative difficulty: A marathon is more impressive than a 5K, a PHD is better that an AA degree. Goals are so important that we have created entire industries to celebrate them. If you win a single game you are doing well and if you win the right number of games you are a WORLD CHAMPION. Sports and entertainment is all about the achievement of goals.The bigger the challenge the greater the glory.

Challenges come in a multiplicity of forms and types. Physical, mental and spiritual challenges abound. Higher, faster, stronger, smarter are all there for us to trip over, fail at, go broke in the seeking …and we seek those results constantly. We are trapped in a web of striving. My wife – an accomplished marathoner trains for eighteen weeks for every race she does. Is this sane?

I have goals, too. They are spiritual in nature and I have never completely succeeded in achieving them. Marathons are hard and other goals are harder but the challenges we get from spiritual leaders will chill the blood of the most goal oriented among us. The Buddha’s words on kindness – The Metta Sutta- gives this challenge, ” Let none deceive another Or despise any being in any state Let none through anger or ill-will which harm upon another. ” Try to achieve that state of being. Good Luck. The Jesus message is no easier…” Love your enemies! Pray for those that persecute you.” Sure.

As my neighbor was approaching his mile in the pool and my coffee was almost gone I can only hope to do bette – to progress – without the hope of a trophy or a medal. Michael Phelps said, I think goals should never be easy, they should force you to work, even if they are uncomfortable at the time.” The goal of being a realized soul will keep you uncomfortable all your days.

My failures in this arena happen every day but I don’t despair of getting better. CS Lewis theologian without portfolio, Oxford professor and prolific author reminds us that, “failures, repeated failures, are fingers posts on the road to success. One fails TOWARD success.”

Is there a gold medal for generosity ?

The intrepid travelers of 92128 recently travelled by train to Los Angeles to see a legend at the Hollywood Bowl. The trek was organized by three women in The Gang of Eight and at least one of the men stepped up to take the role of trip leader. Two other men went along for the ride. Thus, the shortened Gang of Six made their way to LA LA Land to hear the incomparable Van Morrison at one of the world’s great venues.

The trip North was marked by discussions that ranged from the efficacy of various GPS apps to where the soul goes after death…typical range for our group…from the sublime to the ridiculous. As the California coast went by our window we postured and postulated.

Upon arrival in the city we segued to the LA Metro under the guidance of our guide who knew the subway system and in a very few minutes we were vomited into Hollyweird and its multiple scenes. Asian tourists, street people, minor celebrities, wannabes and others teemed in the glitter jungle. A feast for the eyes as we trudged to the AirBNB that would house us for the night.

As we looked forward to the evening’s event I began to think about the people of our generation…the most musical generation in history. We had marched through DO Wop, Motown, Acid Rock, the Blues, Soul, Disco, Punk, Grunge and more… every part of our lives had its own soundtrack. Van Morrison was a significant stop on our musical journey. Later in the evening we would have evidence of the generational quality of our music.

We walked about a mile to the Bowl and picked up our pre-paid picnic lunches. What a change from concerts earlier in our lives when we hoped someone remembered to bring some beans and rice to eat during the show. This was one of the rewards we get for living as long as we have ….lunch comes to us. We had our picnic and went to our seats. We bought cushions to place on bench seats a far cry from our days in open, muddy fields. We had arrived.

Van took the stage and a time warp began. I could hear Van’s Irishness in every song, whether it was bluesy or soulful, the Irish twang was there in the plaintive, sometimes bellicose, tone of the Belfast docks. Van actually created something called “Celtic Soul” and that was evident. A virtuoso saxophonist and a fabulous harp player, Van brought a feast of talent. During a long and complicated set Van always brought energy and incomparable presence…it was easy to understand his status as a legend. At the end of the set, magic happened. Van played Gloria and Brown Eyed Girl. All 17,000 attendees stood and sang along…everyone knew the songs word for word. Van was clearly a part of everyone’s soundtrack.

After the show,we set sail on a sea of humanity as the aforementioned 17,000 exited through a single portal. When the human gridlock broke loose, we hoofed back to our digs. As we thumbed trail mix and Raisenettes into our mouths, we made many a joke about our advancing age. We remembered earlier days when we would be up for hours talking about everything and nothing with equal intensity. Not so on this day. We were all asleep within minutes.

The return trip was easy and fun and and I thought about some lyrics from Irish Heartbeat, “Oh won’t you stay Stay a while with your own ones Don’t ever stray Stray so far from your old ones.” The old ones in the Gang now had a wonderful common adventure in their memory hoard…and that was the best part of the trip.

” If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses” -Lenny Bruce

Just today, a friend of mine made a wisecrack about the pitfalls of a , ” Catholic Education.” As a veteran of the catholic education environment- including a few years in the seminary- I felt the sting. Most of my fellow students are no longer practicing catholics but a significant number ARE, all the way to deacons and knights of Columbus. This divide between the “fallen aways and the fallen-ins is a comment on the nature of the education itself.

The gold standard of the education is scholarship… my high school teachers were all PHDs with a life-long dedication to scholarship and the life of the mind. Some were guest lecturers at prestigious universities and others were authors of many books. They had the intellectual hardware, to be sure. A the same time, the education was doctrinaire in the extreme. As one of my fellow students cleverly opined, ” they taught you to think and then got pissed off when you did it.” Curious.

Jesus – an iconoclastic, Jewish hippy – always defaulted to the progressive, visionary, and altruistic interpretation but the Catholic educators I knew wanted none of that. The premium was on the approved, company line. I guess the goal was not to be happy in this life but to be a strict follower of the rules, a partner in a complex contract with the God of Israel. If you met all the performance standards in the convoluted agreement you would see the big pay day we call heaven.

They wanted to make saints.

We sat in interminable, proctored study halls memorizing Cicero, Horace and Ovid. We actually had a formal class in Gregorian chant. We were being formed into razor sharp soldiers of Christ… an idea that Christ himself would find abhorrent. It soon became clear that we were being groomed to fill a role in one of the world’s largest political organizations. We forgot that Jesus was an outlaw and an intellectual radical and tried to create sturdy little Roman lads that would tame the provinces of the Empire.

But I have to admit that I loved the pace and the rewards of cloistered scholarship. Spending an afternoon on a sunny day with a challenging story or argument is a pleasure, even now. There are so many conflicting things in this education… first, I believe that play is by far the best way to learn anything not a crack on the knuckles from some penguin who is a bride of Christ. I suspect that Jesus would think the whole “bride of Christ’ thing is a bit smarmy too.

I guess the short answer regarding a “Catholic Education” is that the whole experience is a mares nest of contradictions…some aspects are wonderful. others not so much. Remember Satan was once an angel of the highest order. Yes I know the orders for Seraphim through Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions and Virtues. Powers. Pricipalities and archangels are in there too.

Last but Not least are the Guardian angels and my Guardian Angel is skepticism

I would not recommend a Catholic education…and I wouldn’t miss it either.

The other night the gang of friends shared war stories over drinks. While 92128 appears tranquil at first sight, further inspection reveals a bloody battle of epic construction and proportion. An infiltration is underway…. and the enemy is cunning, numerous and relentless. Chicago is recognized as the city that suffers the most from the combat with the interlopers but 92128 sees its fair share of action. The collective noun that describes the enemy is “mischief” but this word is too tame to describe the disgusting beast that seeks to invade us. There are browns, blacks, Norwegians and Polynesians. They can eat anything, survive anywhere and they rarely rest…formidable foes.

The menace is real and the encounters are many. It’s hard not to respect them a bit, since so many have given their lives to help create safe cosmetics and they are even capable of metacognition…a thing that apparently escapes many humans. Perhaps we despise the lowly rat because they are so much like us. They are aggressive, ingenious and adaptable. Fellow omnivores, they can survive almost anywhere.

We want to eradicate them and will-sometimes literally- shoot on sight. Musophobia is by no means rare. The stories we shared were as dire as those from any war zone. We discussed killing hardware from pellet guns to camp shovels. Poisons and traps were discussed tactically and strategically. There was even a story about body bags being carried from the field of battle.

You might relocate a captured squirrel or a cornered raccoon but the when it comes to rats no prisoners are taken -no quarter is given. The current record for any single warrior is 89 KIA. Killing 89 rats on a single property can only be described as a bloodbath. More common is the single encounter and then things become hand to hand. It’s gritty, indeed.

As we told our tales of battle, the enemy had penetrated the perimeter. Three rats were sited. The war will go on.

Taj Mahal – aka Henry ST. Clair Fredricks – once said this incredible mouthful – “Particularly with the blues, it’s not just about bad times. It’s about the healing spirit. “

A group of 92128 characters were able to access some of this healing at the San Diego Blues Festival recently and we were informed that she caught the Cady and left him a mule to ride; we were counseled to take a giant step and be natch’l.

Most important we were given a chance to stop being so white and to tuck into some East African food or a plate of red beans and rice spiked with a hot link. Our folks lined up an array of folding chairs and enjoyed the spectacle. We were delighted to watch our old contemporaries dancing without rhythm and eating and drinking without remorse. At 77 years, Taj is really an ambassador of what we now call World Music and you can hear the sounds of Africa, the Caribbean and Mississippi all at once as he growls and finger picks straight at ya. Taj just, “plays to the goddess of music-and I know she’s dancing.” So were all of us aging hippies.

It wasn’t all about Taj. The idea of “fusion” – the great variety synthesized- was also a comment on the squad of old friends that occupied our line of folding chairs. From left to right we had a super volunteer, a print and film maven, yours truly, a library scientist, a school administrator and a city manager that had coalesced into a posse. We were a group that epitomized the blues in the way that Wynton Marsalis once described blues music…”affirmation with elegance.”

We have fun together and take care of each other.

Blues music is the trellis upon which most of the significant American music is arrayed. Bluegrass, jazz, rock and roll, gospel and spiritual music all carry the blues bloodline. Cryin the blues is something most of us have done in our day and it resonates.

So we had a chance to hear the blues together and deepen the soul of the 92128 group. Let’s close with BB King, ” blues is the tonic for what ails you.” We feeling’n good now!

There was time-not very long ago-that page A2 of a major metropolitan newspaper was reserved for matters of great import including missing aviators, casualty reports, human rights matters, prizes awarded and so forth. Recently, in my town’s leading daily page two sported the headline: ” Ready for 5 G Transformation.” I am missing something.

The article tells us the good news that fifth generation wireless technology will speed our access to the internet, you can download apps, have a common language for social media and finally experience, “seamless navigation.” Does this mean better pictures of kitties and kids, faster gratification of our grievances and more-and more vivid emojis? Are we being swept up in the fevered dream of group of software engineers? To be fair the article does pose the critical question but makes no attempt to answer it. The question is simple and telling, ” is 5G overhyped?” Yes.

While the Amazon rainforest burns and our leaders fiddle are we to take comfort in the fact that our streaming abilities are enhanced?

I do get the fact that all technologies have a momentum that will not be denied and in many cases the refinements to technological systems are wildly beneficial. Everything from surgery to hiring a roofer has been enhanced by refinements of technology. But what does improved speed with your cell phone actually deliver?

But this refinement is not of the type. The article has this caveat, ” Any terrestrial broadband provider runs the risk of becoming a dump pipe that others such as Netflix leverage to make money.” Indeed.

Are we being served or bombarded.

I am not suggesting that we return to cans on a string , or smoke signals, but I also feel that enough is more than enough. We can, of course, sell more phone upgrades, goods, services and pure nonsense. I strongly feel the need to throw the sabot into this machinery…can’t you just leave us alone for a moment.

Good old capitalism will not give us a moments rest as we are constantly harassed by the next best thing and I am not invested in whether or not we will win the struggle with Huawei.

Oh well, perhaps I am getting too old for all this…if I fall asleep while reading my book just turn out the light. I don’t have clap on/ clap off technology either.

Dilletante is Not Just A Chocolate

As the pace of change ratchets up in our sixth and seventh decades, we often look for those things that abide…the things that have stayed with us over the years. As we navigate the years where life takes things from us- our looks, our friends, our sense of humor-there is comfort in the things that are fundamentally us. If you’ve done or thought, or are moved by something for more than three or four decades it is probably one of your essentials-it is a part of who you truly are. I am blessed by friends who love sports, music, books, children, politics. They are people who are truly the sum of parts that have stood the test of time. Occasionally, a momentary enthusiasm may intrude but those short infatuations do not abide. That’s why you see snorkeling fins, exercise balls, gas grills and “how to” books at the garage sales in 92128.

What abides with me are the FIVE Bs: Books, Buddha, Baseball, the Bard and pure old fashioned Bullshit. A quick look at each of these and the source of them in my life is revealing.

Books have always been my refuge and my defense against against the pain of every day. As a defense nothing beats verbal acuity and a grasp of mankind’s best stories. From Homer to the latest novel on my shelf I find a great joy in simple narrative… in people telling me their stories. Everyone from Roskolnikov to Don Quixote to Jack Ryan is interesting and worth my time. There is little danger of dilettantism in my fascination with people’s stories. I have been attentive to them for many decades and I still learn from them now.

Buddha is an easy one. It comes originally from my early education that convinced me there is such a thing as spiritual reading. When someone tells me there is a path to the end of suffering you can bet that I’ll listen. I do this reading very day from Buddha to Al Ghazalli because I was instructed to do so by people that I respect. They suggest the relationship between the ocean and the waves; between the mountain and the weather systems that pass by it.

Baseball figures into my earlier and most pleasant memories. There was a radio under my pillow at age eight or so and I followed the exploits of my team 154 times a year…until the season grew to 162 games. Dizzy Dean ,Pee Wee Reese, Jack Brickhouse filled my ears with stories of the boys of summer. They were my introduction to the theater of the mind. I had to picture the scene, smell the smells and hear the sounds from miles away…it was a jumpstart for the imagination.

Later in life I played and coached baseball and had nothing but fun …what a gift.

The The Bard- Willie- was a pleasure indeed for a kid that loved words and pageantry. Where else can you find kings, tarts, drunkards, clergymen, fairies, fools, poets, lovers and lunatics on the same stage in the short time frame of five acts? I loved the bawdy word salad that was served up. Still do.

Finally, there’s my favorite…bullshit. I admit it, I love a person full of ideas, exaggerations, silliness and wordplay. My friends in 92128 are good at all of these rare talents. God, I do love the absurdity of our conversations. There is much laughter and very little dour concern for the well balanced comment. They are wits in their own right and their society delights me.

So be aware that the poets of 92128 are not dilletants… they have been doing their craziness for decades. They are experts. Geniuses at having a good giggle. Sometimes I just let it all wash over me and that is a powerful healing force.

So, life in 92128 goes on .

92128 is soon to lose a very fine man.

We spent most of the day with a neighbor family on death watch at a local ICU. Our 88 year old neighbor had suffered a catastrophic brain bleed event and spent many hours clinging to life. Conflicting feelings were everywhere and dramatically expressed by grand child, son, daughter, son in law and wife… and us , the near neighbors. The main conflicts centered on the clash of gratitude for his full and well-lived life in conflict with a tragic sense of loss.

The man in the bed had been a soldier, a pilot, a communications worker, a homebuilder, a father, a grandfather and a husband for nearly nine decades and no one there wanted him to stop being. No one but nature herself. We owe god a death as we were told in Henry IV and when payday comes happiness diminishes so much that we can barely see any good in it.

We do well to remember at these times, that spirits live forever. As long as we remember and celebrate the soul of someone, they live. I told the man’s son that he will talk to his father after his passing as much or more than he’d did when he sat in the same room with him. In short, his father has not left him and he never would. So my friend will be with me till the end of my days and every time I tell a story about him he will be present.

The great poet of the soul-Rumi- put it perfectly when he wrote, “Goodbyes are are only for those that love with their eyes. Because for those that love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.” As the family copes with the grief that comes naturally at these times, perhaps they will find consolation from the little voice in their ears that they have heard so often.

They will move from the love that requires eyes-on presence to a deeper place. We will miss him intensely for a while and he will come back to tell us everything is alright.

Until that day, farewell my friend.