Andons and Grandmothers

Wiring Diagram

When I mowed the lawn today, I happened upon a manual sprinkler head hooked up to a length of old garden hose. Thinking it was just a piece of hose, a remnant from some old attempt to augment the automatic in-ground sprinkler system, I picked it up and gave it a yank. Much to my surprise, the hose was quite long. It ran behind our tool shed where I assumed it ended, but no, it ran the entire length of the shed and beyond. I walked around the shed and continued tracing the line as it ran along the house, and I eventually lost it in behind the ferns planted there. I gave it a tug, but I think the plants had grown around it, securing it in place and concealing where it might have gone.

The incident reminded me of the assembly plant where I used to work. It had a miles and miles of conveyor lines, and it had the Toyoda Andon System. These conveyor systems were complicated in themselves, but with andon, each workstation along the line could stop the line by pulling a cord or hitting a switch. Additionally, some pieces of equipment used in the process could automatically stop the line. Then there was the lighing, power outlets, fans, and lots of other equipment and power tools.

Wiring this whole thing together was a total nightmare. Over the years, so many things had been added or modified that there was nobody who really knew where all the wiring went. The maintenance people could and often did spend hours just trying to figure out where something was plugged in and how it was integrated into the wiring scheme. There really were no up-to-date schematics.

I think peoples' behavior is like that. Over the thousands of years we been around, there has been a lot of modification to what people think is good and bad behavior. There is stuff we don't do any more because somewhere along the line people began to think it wasn't a good idea. We forget why we thought the way we did.

In the movie The Fifth Element, a priest (not a Catholic one) shoos away a little boy, and as he does, he tells the boy Go with God, be safe from evil. I've always been struck by and challenged by that line. In the fictional culture of the film, there was a mindset that allowed for an intimate awareness of good and evil. There was a recognition that the choice between good and evil was personal and of consequence.

Upon entering a home, my mother would frequently greet the owners with a traditional Polish greeting: Pochwalony Jezus Chrystus, praised be Jesus Christ. The proper response would be Na wieki wiekow, amen, for ever and ever, amen. The tradition came to her from my  grandmother who had left Poland sometime around 1910. It was a way to remind the greeter and the greeted that they were part of something far bigger than themselves, that there were standards to which they tried to hold themselves.

I do not say things like that, and if I try, I feel a bit silly.

Still, it's a good concept, this good and evil thing. I do believe that there is good and evil in the world -- there is the possibility of peace and order, and there is the risk of chaos and destruction. And I do hope that people look for what is good. I do hope that none of the rampant cruelty in the world overwhelms them.

So go with God, be safe from evil. Spend some time figuring out where you're plugged in and how you fit into the bigger picture.

I know...it sounds silly.

Off The Beaten Path

The Beaten Path

   There are somethings that simply make some places special. I'm sure every place has them if you're willing to look for them. Here in Ripon, we have the river trail. I don't even know if there is an official name for it, but it is a trail that leads from one side of town to the other along the north shore of the Stanislaus River. Some of it is paved, much of it is not. The picture on the left shows a section of the trail that is just down the street from us. It takes us about 5 to 10 minutes to walk to the entrance to the trail.

You can spend several pleasant hours walking along the beaten path, and there are some very wonderful sights. However, if you are willing to invest just a bit more, you can find place like the one in the video on the right, places just off the beaten path.

Off The Beaten P

The Stanislaus River, swollen by last season's snow pack, has fashioned an ephemeral treat, a new channel that snakes through what used to be dry land. It is surprisingly gentle and clear, perfect for the rope swing on the tree, something Alex and Lillian took complete advantage of. At its deepest, the channel was about waist deep on Alex. This spot is maybe 20 minutes from our front door at a leisurely walk, but when you're there, you could believe you're on another planet. 


I know that it's a screwed up and scary time right now, but in this spot, it just seemed that all was right with the world.

God is good.

Reflecting on the Endgame

Head in Hole

I apologize if my absence from the blogosphere has inconvenienced anyone. I realize it's been a bit since my last entry. I've been attending to a few things: most of little consequence but needing to be done, and a few matters of true substance. It is these latter items that had me stick my head in a hole in a tree.

There are some moments in your life where things fundamentally change -- some are good, some are bad, some just are.

Marriage is one of those times. You go along single and the world looks one way, then literally in an instant, you're married and the world is different. You are no longer single, you are married, and even if someday you or your spouse walks away from that, you can never completely leave it behind. That person is never "someone I used to know," they will always be "the ex." Hopefully therefore, marriage is something you had put a lot of thought into before jumping in.

While I had my head in the hole during the past couple of weeks, I've had to think about my own endgame. I'm not ready to die, and don't want to die any time soon, but I had to do some serious thinking about the eventuality. I wanted to clarify how I felt about dying, and I didn't want that process to take place for the first time on my deathbed. And I needed to know what Sand was thinking, since we are in this together until the end.

This is not about picking out the caskets by the way, although I imagine that could be part of the discussion eventually. This is about whether or not I am willing and able to accept death as a natural process. When the time comes for the kids to put me on the iceberg and wave goodbye, do I resist or do I graciously cooperate?
If tomorrow I found that I had a disease that would kill me if left untreated, how should I proceed?

God is good and I am at peace with my decisions, and for the moment at least, I can pull my head out the hole and rejoin the world. It's that time of life, and it is what it is.

Some Days Are Just Better Than Others

    My counted cross stitch project is progressing. If I relied on cross stitch to be my source of income, I'd probably be a bit worried at this point, since I'm not setting any production records. However, it is diverting. When I get out my project, of course the first thing I have to do is spend a good fifteen minutes figuring out where I am and what's next.
    Like everything else in life, each foray gets a little easier. I can see more, and see more more quickly, each time. I am also little by little getting faster on the stitching itself. Oddly, I am more comfortable with the needle in my right hand. I think that's odd since I am left handed.

   I have become increasingly fascinated with the idea that work is part of the "life of the world to come" that we profess in the last line of the Nicene Creed.I think there will be plenty that needs to be done in that new world, just as I am sure that Adam and Eve had plenty to keep them busy in the Garden. But it will be stuff that makes sense, it will be things that feel good to do. 
   Working for money, especially when money becomes the only measure of the morality of the work, creates a tension that saps the beauty from work.
   What if everybody pitched in and got done what needed to be done today?  I understand that in hunter-gatherer cultures that we consider "primitive," the daily work of the community takes up about 20% of the day, and the rest of the time is given over to enjoying life. We all could be done with work by lunch time if we did only the right stuff, and if we could have a couple of other people to help us out. If everyday was Take a Friend to Work Day, everybody would have a job. Then, after lunch, we could do cross stitch, or play baseball or write a book. I really think that's the way God intends the world to come to be run.
    I watched our family yesterday trying to live out that kind of  plan on earth -- you know, the way it might be done in heaven. We were one and all busy with the various tasks that make the household go. Everyone was pleasant, everyone did what they could and what was needed. Then Lillian went off to friend's house, John and Alex immersed themselves in gaming on the computer, Sand did some writing, and I picked up the cross stitch. Then later, John went to the store, and brought back a raspberry bundt cake...for me.
   God (and life) is good.
 

Paul and Bernie Listen to Bill and God

Pencil Drawing on Bar Napkin, circa 1598

           Every time I attend a play, especially something like Shakespeare, I spend the first twenty minutes or so trying to adjust my hearing. Initially, it is very difficult to hear anything but the sound of incomprehensible voices. Eventually, with whatever adjustment is necessary, words begin to pop out, then phrases, and pretty soon, I am hearing what they are saying. With Shakespeare (whose image appears to the left), I think that part of the issue is that we come to expect a certain order to the language we hear. We expect the speaker to choose from a familiar palette of phrases and sentence structures, something like “it is raining cats and dogs.” Shakespeare, however, is playful and creative, and enjoys surprising us with distinctive words and phrases. “The wind pushed the rain as a dog herding sheep, gathering the scattered drops into a solid mat of wool driven through the narrow gate of the pen.” Prayer is not unlike that. 

 I have spent the last several months attuning my soul to the sound of prayer. I have been trying to get accustomed to prayer as dialogue. I had to figure out what to say, and I had to learn to listen. If I had to describe my prayer six months ago, I would say that I used to mumble a lot and then look at my nails and scratch a lot instead of listening for an answer. I would imagine that God experienced me like I experience most teenagers.

 “Like, I don’t know what to do,” I would mumble to God, hands stuffed in pockets, looking at the ground, a kind of blank look on my face.

“Waa wa waa waa wa,” God would say, but mostly what I heard was Paul Simon singing Cecelia.

“What?” I asked, although it is not a question, it’s a deflection.

“Wa waa wa wa?”

I would look at the ceiling and stare with an expression that indicated I had just shut down and that nothing more would go in or come out of my brain, perhaps forever.

Prayer is ultimately conversation, and I have never been a good (or at least not a comfortable) conversationalist. Fortunately, there is loads of advice for those who would like to be, and most all of it says something like “look for something of interest in the other person and comment on it, ask questions, and listen.”

A lot of what I hear from God is still "waa waa waa," but at least Paul has forgotten about Cecelia and has begun asking pertinent questions: Lord, is it Be Bop a Lula? Or ooh Papa Doo?

OMG!!!

OMG!!! by Bernie

So I was listening to my eight year old granddaughter having a conversation with her eight year old friend. The friend was talking about a third party who was not present.

"So she says to her," the friend said of the third party. "'Oh my God, I hate you."

"That wasn't nice," my granddaughter admonished. "She shouldn't have said that. It's one of the Commandments. She should have said 'Oh my gosh, I hate you.'"

The other girl agreed.

I was very proud of my daughter at that moment -- her efforts to instill a sense of right and wrong in her daughter are bearing fruit. And I was very proud of my granddaughter for having the courage to use this knowledge in her everyday life.

Life is a little complicated most of the time. It is difficult to get a firm grasp on all its elements. Just when you think you've got it under control the transmission in the car goes out, or you burn the dinner on the stove top, or you lose your job. Oh my God, what am I going to do?  Worse still are those times when you are in control, or so you think, and still you wind up doing or saying the exact wrong thing. Oh my God, I shouldn't have done that.

My granddaughter is appropriately myopic in her observations about the world. She's eight, she's allowed to be. Hopefully, some day soon, she will begin to realize there is another dynamic at work in the statement she heard and with equal courage question the appropriateness of hate.

When I look at myself in the mirror, the phrase that most often comes to mind nowadays is Oh my God, I am getting old. I am really trying to move past this being simply an expletive. I am trying to embrace this as a prayer, trying to be grateful and hopeful. Oh my God, thank you for getting me this far, thank you for allowing me to see the fruits of my labor, thank you giving me the sense to appreciate life in all its dimensions. But there are those days when I am most keenly aware of the aches and pains, when I feel particularly diminished by the things that don't work anymore, when resignation replaces anticipation, and on those days I am saying Oh my God, do you see what's happening to me?

Then again, sometimes looking in the mirror is not a spiritual experience at all -- you just look at the skid marks and the wreckage and wonder if drinking contributed to the accident or did you just fall asleep at the wheel. In this case, follow my granddaughter's advice and say Oh my gosh, look at that mess.