Yesterday, as I was working at my computer, I noticed that a big red pickup truck bearing the logo of the Maynard fire department was pulling up to the house. I came downstairs in time to greet the (a?) Maynard fire captain, here to do an inspection. At first I thought he wanted to see the tail-end of our huge construction project to ensure that we complied with all requirements, which have changed since the house was originally built.
But no, this was about something having to do with propane. Ah. So I mentioned that we now had a propane tank and a gas fireplace. Could he see both? Certainly, and that's exactly what he meant. We trotted out to see the propane tank first. "Hmm," he said, as if to mean "golly gee, that's a propane tank, yup." He asked if it was full and I showed him the guage pointing nearly to the "F" mark. Inside again, we went upstairs to see the little gas fireplace. I turned it on and showed him the shutoff valve. "Hmm," he said again, this time with more meaning, and asked where we bought it.
Downstairs again, he asked to use my dining room table, where he proceeded to fill out a form in duplicate (by hand) granting permission to install the propane tank. At least I now have it in writing (and I do mean writing -- no automation here), a month after the tank was installed.
When he left, he told me to "be good" (he was, after all, a sweet fatherly type) and I replied that it had been a pleasure to meet him, and though I'd be happy to see him again, I hope it's not at the business end of a fire truck.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Sunday, July 25, 2004
Random thoughts on a hazy-minded day
I've been feeling a little low the last few days, almost not well enough to weed, which takes very little energy. In my haze this afternoon, I pondered on a few mysteries:
> Why does the vinca want to grow in the lawn when there's plenty of space for it in the vinca bed? But the grass, which doesn't always want to grow in the lawn, is happy to take over for the vinca?
> Why did half the lavender die off (I pulled up ugly wet black roots) when the same plants on either side flourished?
My family has also been much on my mind lately --
> So why do we communicate the things that we shouldn't (got something unpleasant to say about someone else? my family will make sure that person hears it, but not from your lips) but not communicate the things that we should? And why, throughout these difficult weeks, is my mother being so cheerfully and bountifully generous while at times also being so destructive?
On a more cheerful note, I thought about one of my personal heroes, Steve Schalchlin. He started a blog in 1986 before anyone thought of the word, and I started reading it within months of his initial entry. My friend Char discovered Steve independently; in her final years, he was the person she wrote to when she felt like no one else would understand her issues about living and dying. (Thank you, Steve, for easing Char's journey.) I now own a book that Steve gave to Char about mind-healing.
Steve has AIDS and started writing soon after he nearly died the first time. In these eight years, he's broken up with and re-united with his partner Jim; with Jim, developed a musical about his near-death and bright-life experiences; with Jim, developed a play about discovering redemption not in religion (as they originally thought would do the trick) but in theater, song, and in each other; and most recently, Jim has written a musical about the redemption of a young girl tossed about and neglected in foster care.
In addition to merely surviving and his great creations, Steve is a bridge builder. I know that he's accompanied dying friends on their last voyages. He's also built bridges to help gay people through the painful process of coming out, convincing gay youth to keep living, and convincing those on the religious right to at least interact with gay people as human beings.
So my heart beams at Steve, with hopes that he gets to live his life happily and healthily for many years to come.
> Why does the vinca want to grow in the lawn when there's plenty of space for it in the vinca bed? But the grass, which doesn't always want to grow in the lawn, is happy to take over for the vinca?
> Why did half the lavender die off (I pulled up ugly wet black roots) when the same plants on either side flourished?
My family has also been much on my mind lately --
> So why do we communicate the things that we shouldn't (got something unpleasant to say about someone else? my family will make sure that person hears it, but not from your lips) but not communicate the things that we should? And why, throughout these difficult weeks, is my mother being so cheerfully and bountifully generous while at times also being so destructive?
On a more cheerful note, I thought about one of my personal heroes, Steve Schalchlin. He started a blog in 1986 before anyone thought of the word, and I started reading it within months of his initial entry. My friend Char discovered Steve independently; in her final years, he was the person she wrote to when she felt like no one else would understand her issues about living and dying. (Thank you, Steve, for easing Char's journey.) I now own a book that Steve gave to Char about mind-healing.
Steve has AIDS and started writing soon after he nearly died the first time. In these eight years, he's broken up with and re-united with his partner Jim; with Jim, developed a musical about his near-death and bright-life experiences; with Jim, developed a play about discovering redemption not in religion (as they originally thought would do the trick) but in theater, song, and in each other; and most recently, Jim has written a musical about the redemption of a young girl tossed about and neglected in foster care.
In addition to merely surviving and his great creations, Steve is a bridge builder. I know that he's accompanied dying friends on their last voyages. He's also built bridges to help gay people through the painful process of coming out, convincing gay youth to keep living, and convincing those on the religious right to at least interact with gay people as human beings.
So my heart beams at Steve, with hopes that he gets to live his life happily and healthily for many years to come.
Friday, July 23, 2004
Follow-up on earlier stories
Remember the Cutco story? My sales-student called last night to ask me which sets of knives I was planning to buy. (Presumptuous, yes, but I assume it's all part of her script.) I told her that I'd done some research, intending only to determine whether the company's products were worth buying. I reported that I'd stumbled on a lot of information about the company that made me feel uncomfortable about participating at all, but that I wished her good luck. To her credit, she asked what type of information; I gave her a very brief summary, assuming she could do her own research. (It's really up to her to figure out whether she wants to think highly or lowly of the company and her experience there.) To beat her to the punch (or perhaps it wasn't in her script), I thanked her for her time and again wished her well.
And from my old job comes the news that two writers quit this week and a manager is going on a leave for several months. One of the writers reports that it's the first time he's ever quit a job without having a destination. I hear that the other writer is planning to stay home with her kid for a while, but I haven't heard that from her yet.
Gosh, I feel like I just barely beat the rush. Wouldn't want to get trampled at the narrow exitways.
And from my old job comes the news that two writers quit this week and a manager is going on a leave for several months. One of the writers reports that it's the first time he's ever quit a job without having a destination. I hear that the other writer is planning to stay home with her kid for a while, but I haven't heard that from her yet.
Gosh, I feel like I just barely beat the rush. Wouldn't want to get trampled at the narrow exitways.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
delightful snippet
Today's snippet comes from a letter to the editor of the Boston Globe, a musing about the two swans in the Boston Public Garden. There are some who now think the mute swans, originally named Romeo and Juliet, are both female. The letter writer asks "where's the outrage over Juliet and Juliet?"
The letter continues:
The letter continues:
As this is perhaps a same-sex union, where is Governor Romney's press conference condemning this union and pointing out how swan society is being destroyed by such behavior? When will the state Legislature go into special session to draft and pass a constitutional amendment banning future unions between same sex swans so that the people may vote on it? And why hasn't Archbishop O'Malley condemned same-sex swan unions as antithetical to Catholic teachings?Feeling terribly threatened by the near-loss of the sanctity of swan unions,Perhaps it's because they realize this is an example that such unions are natural.
yr. faithful correspondant.
Oh! Speaking of which (or not, since it'll be a Quaker ceremony), we just received a second invitation (or at least a pre-invitation "save-the-date" card) to a wedding -- two male friends later this fall. Yippee!!
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Cutco and Vector Marketing
A few days ago, a friend asked if someone she knew could make a sales call at my house. It involved selling knives (Cutco, a brand I'd never heard of) and my friend said she's delighted with the knives she bought. Also, Cutco hires a lot of students, but that they get paid just for making the presentation, so the obligation was low.
Today, a very sweet woman showed up at my door, a recent high-school graduate bound for Earlham this fall. She perkily told me about all the great benefits of Cutco knives, often adding "and that's a great thing!!!!!!" (yes, you could hear the punctuation marks in her pitch).
Annoying moment: as she presented knives to me, she'd describe how they were used and then ask "and how do you think you'd use this knife?" as if I were a second-grader in serious need of a remedial quiz. At one point, I said that I wouldn't buy the knife under discussion -- it seemed too gadgety, and she looked crestfallen. I also declined to buy any knives today -- I said that I'd have to do some research. Which I did.
Well oy vey with a little schmear. Where to start? Apparently these are decent knives, but not great. They're also considered to be overpriced, and they're never used by professionals. (Chefs use knives such as Wusthof.)
And the company -- I found lots of complaints by former employees, along with descriptions about how the company exploits students. They're just this side of legal, and apparently, allegedly, just that side of moral. It's a multi-level marketing scheme whereby as you move up in the organization, you get more money for each recruit and each sale. But it all starts with a recruit having to attend training without pay, then pay for more mandatory training and pay for a "starter kit." Then the salespeople have to beg each client for references to other potential clients. There was some discussion about whether the company actually pays all it owes to its salespeople.
On one web site, the administrator piped in to say that most of the "pro" postings (which were nearly illiterate and laced with obscenities and bizarrely wild allegations) were from the same IP address. Kind of makes you go "huh," doesn't it?
Anyways, as bad as I feel for this very sweet saleswoman (who I hope picks another career, sweetness being her sole attractive selling attribute), there's no sale. But perhaps I will consider a pair of Wusthof shears.
Today, a very sweet woman showed up at my door, a recent high-school graduate bound for Earlham this fall. She perkily told me about all the great benefits of Cutco knives, often adding "and that's a great thing!!!!!!" (yes, you could hear the punctuation marks in her pitch).
Annoying moment: as she presented knives to me, she'd describe how they were used and then ask "and how do you think you'd use this knife?" as if I were a second-grader in serious need of a remedial quiz. At one point, I said that I wouldn't buy the knife under discussion -- it seemed too gadgety, and she looked crestfallen. I also declined to buy any knives today -- I said that I'd have to do some research. Which I did.
Well oy vey with a little schmear. Where to start? Apparently these are decent knives, but not great. They're also considered to be overpriced, and they're never used by professionals. (Chefs use knives such as Wusthof.)
And the company -- I found lots of complaints by former employees, along with descriptions about how the company exploits students. They're just this side of legal, and apparently, allegedly, just that side of moral. It's a multi-level marketing scheme whereby as you move up in the organization, you get more money for each recruit and each sale. But it all starts with a recruit having to attend training without pay, then pay for more mandatory training and pay for a "starter kit." Then the salespeople have to beg each client for references to other potential clients. There was some discussion about whether the company actually pays all it owes to its salespeople.
On one web site, the administrator piped in to say that most of the "pro" postings (which were nearly illiterate and laced with obscenities and bizarrely wild allegations) were from the same IP address. Kind of makes you go "huh," doesn't it?
Anyways, as bad as I feel for this very sweet saleswoman (who I hope picks another career, sweetness being her sole attractive selling attribute), there's no sale. But perhaps I will consider a pair of Wusthof shears.
New job old job
Well. I've started my little summer consulting gig. For now, I'm an editor of the Rational Edge, an e-zine for which I wrote a few articles during my tenure at Rational.
http://www.ibm.com/developerworks/rational/rationaledge/
I work with Mike and Marlene, two very enjoyable people, except that I'll be substituting for them while they're on vacation. So I'll work with first one, then the other, then on my own when they both go on vacation and leave me in charge. (yeeps!)
As my first act, I... rejected an article that I think needs more work. I wrote a page and a half explaining why, and I hope the author reworks and resubmits. I think he has something valuable to say, but he's so familiar with the material that he forgets to say it.
So how does it feel? Fine. I pretty much know the routine -- know the people, know the issues, know the e-zine, know the environment. So I'm not needing to come up to speed particularly. It's kind of fun to read and edit, and so far, Mike, the main editor, seems genuinely interested in my ideas and is encouraging me to run with them.
Not bad. Not bad.
http://www.ibm.com/developerworks/rational/rationaledge/
I work with Mike and Marlene, two very enjoyable people, except that I'll be substituting for them while they're on vacation. So I'll work with first one, then the other, then on my own when they both go on vacation and leave me in charge. (yeeps!)
As my first act, I... rejected an article that I think needs more work. I wrote a page and a half explaining why, and I hope the author reworks and resubmits. I think he has something valuable to say, but he's so familiar with the material that he forgets to say it.
So how does it feel? Fine. I pretty much know the routine -- know the people, know the issues, know the e-zine, know the environment. So I'm not needing to come up to speed particularly. It's kind of fun to read and edit, and so far, Mike, the main editor, seems genuinely interested in my ideas and is encouraging me to run with them.
Not bad. Not bad.
Monday, July 19, 2004
Animal stories
Encounters with and thoughts about animals from the last few days:
- Raccoons. When I dropped off Ms. Juliet at Kitty Klub Med (aka the Cat Cottage), her caretaker for the weekend told me that she moonlights at a wildlife animal refuge. Apparently the raccoons are very intelligent and make an assortment of noises. Her "when I'm a rich lady" fantasy is to crack their code -- to study their language closely enough to understand it and document it.
- Llamas. This weekend, we stayed at a B&B (lovely) where the owner keeps (or perhaps just lives with) llamas. http://www.bcn.net/llamahike/ Yesterday, he didn't quite have time to take us on a hike himself but he allowed us to take three llamas on a walk through meadows and woodland trails. They're smaller than I remember, and very docile. For the most part, they walk on their leashes like well-trained dogs, giving occasional little shoulder-butts (Richard, their human, says they're "bug rubs"). They made surprisingly pleasant companions on our stroll. They're social with each other, also make interesting noises, and when at rest, groom and scratch themselves as a cat would.
- Wild turkeys. On our hike, we surprised, and in turn were ourselves surprised, by a family of wild turkeys resting in tall grass near the forest edge. They appeared to be two adults and an adolescent, which I at first mistook for hawks or eagles because of their size. They rose directly up and took off into the woods, magnificent animals.
snippets that delight
As part of an ongoing series, here's a snippet that delighted me, available on tee shirts and bumper stickers:
Perhaps even better was the source: a web site hawking the book (sure to be a best-seller): "Lesbian Buddha in Hollywood," and yes, it's at http://www.lesbianbuddhainhollywood.com.
No heterosexuals were harmed in the making of these marriages
Perhaps even better was the source: a web site hawking the book (sure to be a best-seller): "Lesbian Buddha in Hollywood," and yes, it's at http://www.lesbianbuddhainhollywood.com.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Much better
Paint's on the walls, carpet's on the floor, and, thanks to Robert, the major pieces of furniture are back in place. The cat's calmer, I feel much better, and now I just need to start unpacking the piles of boxes I've hidden in my garage. But that's all manageable, if slow. Meanwhile, I'm trying to maintain my humility and compassion.
On household changes and another opportunity to experience humility
Not only am I undergoing changes (to what I'm not sure) but the house is also. In anticipation of Robert moving in with me, we've added to the house and while we were at it, have touched every existing space. You can see pictures up until mid-April here, accessible with an ofoto username and password. Eventually, I'll post some "after" pictures too.
Most of the project has been easy. But there have been some tough periods where I've felt like I'm just slogging through and have needed a pep talk. But of course I've always known those feelings were temporary and that there'd be something much better on the other side. This is in comparison to most other types of changes where you just plunge in and have no clue what's on the other side.
This week, we're undergoing one of the toughest change periods since the project began back in late December. Under the theory that we might as well do a level-set so we don't have to disrupt ourselves in just a few years, we're painting and recarpeting the existing space. The painters were here earlier this week, painting upstairs and down. Today, thanks to a last-minute cancellation, the rug guys are here, replacing any carpet they haven't already laid in their first two trips.
This work has necessitated moving everything out of the living room and dining room -- pictures, furniture, all the little comfortable things I live with. At this point in the project, I've moved all my possessions, save some of the items in the upper kitchen cabinets, at least once, and some multiple times.
Yes I'm grateful to live in a time and place when I can pay someone else -- experts, no less -- to do the renovations. And I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining. So what's hard? Just the psychological realization of how much stuff and how much dirt I live with. I'm happy to let the dirt go -- despite fairly regular cleanings, I'm sure we'll see it again before too long. Or maybe we won't. The bad dirt was behind things. But I let myself think that I live fairly lightly. And the plain truth is that I don't. So this is a week of confronting that demon.
I'm trying hard to set things aside for a mythical yard sale. Robert will have a few items to get rid of too. I'm thinking of some bookcases he'll no longer need after storing most of his books in a built-in bookcase we had made for him. And of course, it's always hard to let go of stuff. I've held onto it for a reason. Now, by letting it go, it can feel like I'm letting go of the connection -- perhaps to the person who gave the item to me or the memory of the event at which I acquired the item.
I'm also feeling humbled by the psychological pulls of moving. It's hard physical work, which I don't mind, but it's hard on my head too. Robert and I both moved a lot when we were kids. I moved a lot as my family decided how to configure itself, a polite way of saying that as a youngster, the adults in my life couldn't decide how they wanted to live or whom they wanted to live with, or where they wanted to do all of the above. Robert moved because his father's job demanded it. (Robert did get to attend the last two years of high school in the same school because even his dad had had enough by that time.)
One might think that our experiences have made us more flexible, ready to pull up stakes at a moment's notice. Instead, we've become settled as adults, reluctant to move at all. I've lived in the same place for 14 years, Robert for about 10.
I think of myself as a fairly compassionate person. I hope that without moving a stick of furniture, I would have been cheerful and supportive as Robert moved. Now that I've gone through most of a household move recently, however, I'm hoping that I will be even more compassionate and supportive when it's Robert's turn.
So now I look forward to moving everything back into the place it came from, perhaps after giving it a good cleaning. Actually, I look forward to having most everything back in its comfortable and familiar spot, to settling into my favorite chair to read the paper, to having the cat question less at having her routine disrupted. Let the settling in begin.
Most of the project has been easy. But there have been some tough periods where I've felt like I'm just slogging through and have needed a pep talk. But of course I've always known those feelings were temporary and that there'd be something much better on the other side. This is in comparison to most other types of changes where you just plunge in and have no clue what's on the other side.
This week, we're undergoing one of the toughest change periods since the project began back in late December. Under the theory that we might as well do a level-set so we don't have to disrupt ourselves in just a few years, we're painting and recarpeting the existing space. The painters were here earlier this week, painting upstairs and down. Today, thanks to a last-minute cancellation, the rug guys are here, replacing any carpet they haven't already laid in their first two trips.
This work has necessitated moving everything out of the living room and dining room -- pictures, furniture, all the little comfortable things I live with. At this point in the project, I've moved all my possessions, save some of the items in the upper kitchen cabinets, at least once, and some multiple times.
Yes I'm grateful to live in a time and place when I can pay someone else -- experts, no less -- to do the renovations. And I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining. So what's hard? Just the psychological realization of how much stuff and how much dirt I live with. I'm happy to let the dirt go -- despite fairly regular cleanings, I'm sure we'll see it again before too long. Or maybe we won't. The bad dirt was behind things. But I let myself think that I live fairly lightly. And the plain truth is that I don't. So this is a week of confronting that demon.
I'm trying hard to set things aside for a mythical yard sale. Robert will have a few items to get rid of too. I'm thinking of some bookcases he'll no longer need after storing most of his books in a built-in bookcase we had made for him. And of course, it's always hard to let go of stuff. I've held onto it for a reason. Now, by letting it go, it can feel like I'm letting go of the connection -- perhaps to the person who gave the item to me or the memory of the event at which I acquired the item.
I'm also feeling humbled by the psychological pulls of moving. It's hard physical work, which I don't mind, but it's hard on my head too. Robert and I both moved a lot when we were kids. I moved a lot as my family decided how to configure itself, a polite way of saying that as a youngster, the adults in my life couldn't decide how they wanted to live or whom they wanted to live with, or where they wanted to do all of the above. Robert moved because his father's job demanded it. (Robert did get to attend the last two years of high school in the same school because even his dad had had enough by that time.)
One might think that our experiences have made us more flexible, ready to pull up stakes at a moment's notice. Instead, we've become settled as adults, reluctant to move at all. I've lived in the same place for 14 years, Robert for about 10.
I think of myself as a fairly compassionate person. I hope that without moving a stick of furniture, I would have been cheerful and supportive as Robert moved. Now that I've gone through most of a household move recently, however, I'm hoping that I will be even more compassionate and supportive when it's Robert's turn.
So now I look forward to moving everything back into the place it came from, perhaps after giving it a good cleaning. Actually, I look forward to having most everything back in its comfortable and familiar spot, to settling into my favorite chair to read the paper, to having the cat question less at having her routine disrupted. Let the settling in begin.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
A pattern language for living
We spent an incredibly relaxing weekend filled with visits to friends in lovely places. It was made great by the absence of pressure to maintain the lawn, run errands, do, do, do, and go, go, go. These are all things I can do during the week now, so that the weekend truly can feel more like a tiny vacation.
I'm sitting in my new study, light and air coming in on both sides, the cat sleeping at my feet in a special nest I've made her.
A friend who was out of work for more than two years, not a situation of her choosing, recently got a job. It's a "permanent job" as opposed to a contract job, but not permanent in the sense that it supports her in the style to which she's become accustomed or that as the current description runs, she will derive long-term satisfaction from it.
I wrote to her just now about seeing her current job in architectural terms. It's as if she's started to climb a staircase and she's arrived at a "resting spot." From that vantage point, she can get a much better view of the landscape around her and plot her next move.
This was all in reference to "A Pattern Language," a book of architectural concepts that I first browsed through in 1978. Its metaphor has since been adopted by the computer industry. It's now common to start programming tasks by working with patterns or "templates."
This morning, I found excerpts of the book online and started browsing (of course, it and some of the author's later books instantly went on my amazon list.) I'd forgotten how funny, wise, and well-written it is. (For snippets, see: http://downlode.org/etext/patterns/)
I'd also forgotten that each pattern is set up as an explication of Conflict and Resolution. And that many of the Conflicts apply more generally to life than one might realize on first reading. Or perhaps that shouldn't be a surprise -- "A Pattern Language" talks a lot about how to integrate architecture into our lives so that we can live effectively as individuals and community members.
Some marvelous examples:
> Conflict: There is no substitute for fire.
Yes, fire in the house is important. We (humans and animals) are naturally drawn to it -- Robert and I call it "kitty tv." But what about fire in the belly? The juice that keeps me going, that engages me, is passion about my life, my work, my relationships.
> Conflict: A staircase is not just a way of getting from one floor to another. The stair is itself a space, a volume, a part of the building; and unless this space is made to live, it will be a dead spot, and work to disconnect the building and to tear its processes apart.
Or, it's not the destination but the path that you take. Each step is important. My friend in the "temporary permanent" job can consider using this interim time to her own advantage. The steps on the staircase and in the interim parts of our lives are as much a part of the experience as are the experiences that we yearn for. Or, perhaps, they're all stepping stones. One day we're not breathing, we're born and start breathing, and during that hopefully long time of breathe-in, breathe-out, we enter a transition, and then one day we stop breathing again. And we can create and mold that transition to be boring, frustrating, exciting, fulfilling. It's up to us.
> Conflict: The layout of paths will seem right and comfortable only when it is compatible with the process of walking. And the process of walking is far more subtle than one might imagine.
Designing life goals and the means of reaching them can work only when you consider the experience of living. And the process of living can be more subtle and more complex than you might imagine.
OK, so maybe these are a stretch, but it does make me think about creating "A Pattern Language for Life" by starting with Alexander's Conflicts and writing my own Resolutions. But really, my PLfL will be different from anyone else's.
BTW, the web site I referred to is structured to encourage delightful meandering. (As I remember, I think the navigation is based on the book itself, which would have been a natural fit for a web site had the web been invented at the time of writing.)
I'm sitting in my new study, light and air coming in on both sides, the cat sleeping at my feet in a special nest I've made her.
A friend who was out of work for more than two years, not a situation of her choosing, recently got a job. It's a "permanent job" as opposed to a contract job, but not permanent in the sense that it supports her in the style to which she's become accustomed or that as the current description runs, she will derive long-term satisfaction from it.
I wrote to her just now about seeing her current job in architectural terms. It's as if she's started to climb a staircase and she's arrived at a "resting spot." From that vantage point, she can get a much better view of the landscape around her and plot her next move.
This was all in reference to "A Pattern Language," a book of architectural concepts that I first browsed through in 1978. Its metaphor has since been adopted by the computer industry. It's now common to start programming tasks by working with patterns or "templates."
This morning, I found excerpts of the book online and started browsing (of course, it and some of the author's later books instantly went on my amazon list.) I'd forgotten how funny, wise, and well-written it is. (For snippets, see: http://downlode.org/etext/patterns/)
I'd also forgotten that each pattern is set up as an explication of Conflict and Resolution. And that many of the Conflicts apply more generally to life than one might realize on first reading. Or perhaps that shouldn't be a surprise -- "A Pattern Language" talks a lot about how to integrate architecture into our lives so that we can live effectively as individuals and community members.
Some marvelous examples:
> Conflict: There is no substitute for fire.
Yes, fire in the house is important. We (humans and animals) are naturally drawn to it -- Robert and I call it "kitty tv." But what about fire in the belly? The juice that keeps me going, that engages me, is passion about my life, my work, my relationships.
> Conflict: A staircase is not just a way of getting from one floor to another. The stair is itself a space, a volume, a part of the building; and unless this space is made to live, it will be a dead spot, and work to disconnect the building and to tear its processes apart.
Or, it's not the destination but the path that you take. Each step is important. My friend in the "temporary permanent" job can consider using this interim time to her own advantage. The steps on the staircase and in the interim parts of our lives are as much a part of the experience as are the experiences that we yearn for. Or, perhaps, they're all stepping stones. One day we're not breathing, we're born and start breathing, and during that hopefully long time of breathe-in, breathe-out, we enter a transition, and then one day we stop breathing again. And we can create and mold that transition to be boring, frustrating, exciting, fulfilling. It's up to us.
> Conflict: The layout of paths will seem right and comfortable only when it is compatible with the process of walking. And the process of walking is far more subtle than one might imagine.
Designing life goals and the means of reaching them can work only when you consider the experience of living. And the process of living can be more subtle and more complex than you might imagine.
OK, so maybe these are a stretch, but it does make me think about creating "A Pattern Language for Life" by starting with Alexander's Conflicts and writing my own Resolutions. But really, my PLfL will be different from anyone else's.
BTW, the web site I referred to is structured to encourage delightful meandering. (As I remember, I think the navigation is based on the book itself, which would have been a natural fit for a web site had the web been invented at the time of writing.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)