Veteran’s Day, November 11

Robert M. Wilson

As Veteran’s Day approaches, I would like to honor all veterans and service people by reflecting on my dad’s service during World War II.

Dad served in the Atlantic and the Mediterranean fighting the Germans. He enlisted in the navy for the duration of the war, plus six months. The additional time was for the convenience of the government. It took a long time to muster people out.

The Germans surrendered on President Truman’s birthday in 1945: May 8. The Japanese surrendered the following August. Dad was released from active duty in January 1946. He was full of energy, and eager to meet a girl.

Mom was pregnant 14 months later, and everything was in short supply. The available housing consisted of mass-produced “cottages.” I was born in a quickie development called University Heights, or Homes, or something along those lines. The housing was not something you wanted to stay in for long.

Everybody was trying to outwit the price control laws. Dad told me that you could buy a car at the legally-controlled price, but you also had to pay extra for the gear shift knob. No car could leave the lot without the gear shift knob.

Dad completed one year of high school before he enlisted. He never made a serious attempt to complete his education. At his own volition he read voraciously. He had the Greek philosophers in his library, and he subscribed to a magazine called Science of Mind. He scrambled to find his way in a society flush with opportunity and opportunism. The decade that followed, the 1950s, was an era of unthinkable pressure to conform. That was not easy for him. He was relieved when the hippies arrived, but he had to wait a long time for that.

Veterans today face a myriad of problems. They survive more severe wounds than were survivable sixty years ago. They face a contracted job market. I feel for them.

It is good to put the current problems of veterans in a larger perspective. It helps us appreciate them. It helps us embrace them. It is our duty, and their birthright, to be respected for their tremendous contributions and sacrifices.

I honor our defenders, as I honor my dad.

A seat at the table

A well ordered dinner

On Thanksgiving Day the bird has its place, and so do I. In fact, all the people at the table have their places. I see to that. I am a big fan of assigned seating at formal dinners, especially when there are eight or more people in attendance.

Some people might consider me a control freak for doing this. I prefer to see a seating plan as a way to get the best out of the conversation and to affirm some values that everyone would like to see affirmed. In any refined society there is rank and privilege, yet everyone is included and loved for who they are. Dinner ought to reflect that, in my view.

You might prefer the scramble. I’ve sat through dinner with some people who thought I was really dull doing that. It’s much better to care for your guests by pampering them and telling them where they will have the most delightful experience.

For many years we have organized dinners for 18. That is where the seating plan comes into its own. More than 18 becomes a crowd, in my view.

An old rule of thumb for seating is boy-girl, boy girl. A good suggestion, but it does not provide enough guidance.

First, there is a decision to be made about the significance of the head of the table, unless you are using a round table, and they rarely accommodate more than six or seven people. The ends of a rectangular table have significance if you say they do. In my house, I say they do. I put an alpha male at the far end, opposite myself.

How do I identify the alpha male? It is a weighted blend of power, age, and dignity. If you are fluent in those qualities it is probably not too hard to single out the appropriate alpha male.

Our biggest table accommodates a party of 10. I sit at one end, and I put the alpha male guest at the other end. It is important to note that my wife participates fully in the design our seating arrangement. I also honor the other alpha females who will be in attendance. It is not a survival strategy to neglect alpha women.

Once the key positions are assigned, the next question is how to promote great conversations. If anyone is relatively new to the group he or she ought to be seated within talking range of someone who is already a friend. Quiet people, if any reside in your group, should not be clumped together. People who see each other frequently should be near people they see less often.

People who need to get up frequently to attend to food preparation or service should be given seats with the appropriate access. If there are any discords among people, they must be separated.

Sometimes children will bring their own surprises such as wanting to sit by their mother rather than being among the kids. There is no way to out-guess children.

Learning from mistakes

I once gave in to Yvette’s argument that certain people should be seated where they could enjoy the view through the window. It was the biggest seating disaster of my career because it ran counter to my basic principles and turned things into a hash. It was icky.

One must also honor the alpha women. They don’t usually demand a seat at the end of the table, but they want their influence to be recognized and reflected in the seating arrangements.  Place alpha women strategically. You have to define that word in each situation.

Tying it together

In the course of a long dinner people will get up, change seats, and “work the room.” That is one of my favorite parts of the evening. The success of this phase is enhanced, I think, by a proper seating plan through dinner. The self-directed mingle is a result of a cordial, festive mood throughout the meal.

A successful seating arrangement communicates who the anchors in the group are. Young people, especially, need to see the village elders and their roles affirmed and honored. It promotes conversation, and finally, it creates a sense of complete equality among all present, regardless of their age or time as members of the group.

Besides, it’s fun to make the place cards. If you haven’t done it, try it!

Another Golden opportunity

Michelle and The Golden Retriever

It’s a charity within a charity. The Goldens from Rescue a Golden were at the Broadway Barnes & Noble store today to raise money to buy books to be given to hospitalized children.

Michelle and Tessa came with me to visit. I was on assignment to photograph the event. Being in the presence of the dogs is nourishing to the soul and the spirit.

If you would like to see all the photos from the shoot, click HERE. Then click “slide show.”

Now, the dogs don’t much care where they are, but consider the volunteers who serve them. They took a good portion of their Sunday afternoon to donate to another good cause. It is humbling, from my perspective.

It restores your faith in the good of people and dogs, doesn’t it?

A dog will remind us of that life is good in case we lose sight of that simple fact.

By the way, the 2010 calendars will be available by next weekend. I haven’t seen what they look like. I took hundreds of photos, but I don’t know which of them Susan chose. Let me know if you want to buy a calendar. All the profits go to the dogs!

Namaste.

Things we remember

Memento of Jim and Carol's wedding

Mementos from Jaime & Bill's wedding

I ran across a magazine article while in my doctor’s waiting room on Friday. I will mention that Dr. Michael Duperret, Tucson, Ariz., is an excellent family doctor, and he has a good selection of magazines in his spacious waiting room. He is like the kindly old doctors in movies, except that he is young.

The magazine article lamented what the author saw as the decline of letters to friends.  This is a subject worthy of a conversation. I have not received a letter in many years, but I remember receiving some when postage was about eight cents.

What I get these days comes in two forms. The first is messages added to greeting cards. I’ve never been impressed with Hallmark’s idea of what people ought to say to me, but I do enjoy the original material that my friends add to the cards. I especially enjoy Carol Sauceda’s hand-made cards. Hallmark has no influence over them at all.

I like the greeting cards with my friends’ writing in them. We tend to save them in our house. I have a box of them somewhere.

Letters come in a new form these days. I speak, of course, of the blog. Blogs are like the mass-mailings people used to send out at Christmas, except that blogs can easily be published daily. No stamps are required, no folding, no stuffing of envelopes. I’m all in favor of this new technology.

My friends approach this blog tentatively. I appreciate all approaches. Few of them have their own blogs, and you have yet to see a guest post here apart from Yuri’s wonderful article about her swim with the dolphins. I think business will pick up eventually as people get more hip to blogs. Blogs are pretty much the “letter” of this century. It is even possible to “pipe” a blog’s accumulated posts into a book format and publish a single copy of it. I think that is very cool.

I am fond of mementos like the two in the photographs. They have much the same feel to me as letters. Consider the thought and affection that went into these.

Note the date: Happy Anniversary, Bill and Jaime!

It’s good to remember, and to be remembered.

Y’all take care, now.

God bless young people!

Carved by Tessa Yauger

I went to Michelle’s house tonight for a Halloween party. The party was wonderful, and then there were two pumpkins that her daughter Tessa had carved. As they say, just a little something she whipped up!

I carve the jaggy saw-toothed monstrosity. Look at what she did!

This reminds me of a conversation I had at Maysa’s wedding rehearsal. I was chatting with one of her sons and one of his friends. They serve to illustrate a point I would like to make.

Both young men are set to play music during the wedding. One young fellow is studying physics and philosophy in college. He is the one who plays the violin. This young man is, what? Twenty? He cares about physics, philosophy, and music. Am I talking to Isaac Newton?

Maybe it’s in the water, but there is something amazing and wonderful going on with the young people today. Pay attention! This is a big deal!

We thought Steve Jobs was cool, and maybe he was. But something bigger is stirring these days. My earnest recommendation is that you village elders get out there among the young folks and tap into their energy. I’m not fully confident of my peers these days. We seem real stuck. What is coming over the horizon is way cooler than hippies were. I know. I was there during the Haight-Ashbury thing. I lusted after hippie chicks (and didn’t get any of them). This is new, and better. This is a transition point for us. Don’t you miss it!

Let’s celebrate the young people. It’s their planet now, and they are more qualified to take it over than we think!

What have you seen out there?

The spirit of Halloween

TaylorJo in the early stages of dipping strawberries.

There is a cute book titled, If You Give a Moose a Muffin. It is one of the classics, and it is based on a fundamental fact of life—joy takes you places you would not have thought of otherwise.

If you give a young girl chocolate sauce, she will have fun with it. The similarities between young girls and story-book moose (meese?) has been thoroughly studied and documented and need not be belabored here by me.

Tonight is Halloween. Children will dedicate the evening to having fun, and I personally recommend the same for adults.

Above all, bond deeply with chocolate, wherever you may find it.

Peace and joy, y’all.

Bruce Bowditch’s new book debuts on December 5

Bruce Bowditch

Bruce’s new yoga book is just around the corner! He told me today that it will debut at a book signing at Yoga Oasis on December 5th at 3:30 in the afternoon.

I have studied under Bruce for several years now, and I am as eager to see his second book as I was his first.

For The Yoga Asana Index Bruce catalogued 486 yoga poses, and for good measure recorded a CD that contains the pronunciation of each pose’s Sanskrit name. The book contains a glossary of terms to make it easy to match English and Sanskrit names.

The promotional material describes clear, detailed instructions for each pose. The book is spiral bound so it opens flat, and he used heavy paper to stand up to real life use, just like his first book. Bruce is an accomplished artist, and the renderings are his own.

Information about the book is also available at Bruce’s web site.

What will you do with 486 poses? For my part, I will admire most of them from afar, but I will love having the definitive catalog!

Congratulations, Bruce!

Reflecting on a dog’s life

There is a Seattle Times reporter who blogs from Afghanistan. His name is Hal Bernton. There are many extraordinary people blogging from the “stans”, and I am going to post about that soon. But  today, I want to point to a story Mr. Bernton told.

In one post he introduced Anton, the dog. In a subsequent post, he wrote about Anton’s death, apparently at the hands of an assassin.

But in terms of risks, no one I’ve met has a life that could compare to that of Anton, a skinny, somewhat scruffy German shepherd born into the comforts of an American kennel. After the 9/11 attacks, when still a young puppy, Anton was shipped to Afghanistan where he was trained to sniff out unexploded land mines.

They don’t respect dogs in Afghanistan. Rory Stewart made that clear in his amazing book, The Places In Between. He tells the story of the Afghanis’ contempt for dogs. Somebody killed a retired dog that had served above and beyond anything most of us will ever do.

When we commit ourselves to putting our young people in harm’s way in the “stans” I hope we will consider all aspects of their culture, intentions, and abilities. Thomas Friedman summarized it beautifully in a recent op-ed piece. I encourage everyone to read it.

Anton, may you rest in peace. Namaste.

I turned the heat on this morning

My dad standing by Grandma's wood-burning stove

January 1959—I lived with my grandparents on several occasions when Dad was having one kind of crisis or another. The crises were a drag, but living with Grandma had its advantages.

The picture shows Dad in Grandma’s living room. The dark mass in the lower right is the sole source of heat in her house. The house was a shack, but I say this with affection.

Turning the heat on involved newspapers and kindling. Then you waited for the heat to radiate through the house. There was no forced air.

Grandma would often lay my blue jeans over the stove for a few minutes. Slipping into them provided a burst of joy on days when the windows were covered with frost and the heat had not yet reached the walls of the living room.

Today I turned on the heat in my house for the first time this season. I touched an electronic keypad.  The HVAC system took over like a champ, pumping warm air to every room.

Grandpa split most of the firewood. That is how he died, axe in hand. He died with dignity, and with his boots on, as the saying goes. He died working. I honor that. I’m going to outlive Grandpa, like I did Dad. Samuel Guy Wilson lived on fried chicken, bacon, and gravy, and people just live longer now. I don’t have far to go to beat his record. I don’t think Sam left anything undone. I have many things I hope to accomplish still.

You might also notice the garments hanging on the line over the stove to dry. Grandma had no drier, and in the Oregon winter the clothes would freeze solid. Grandma also kept a coffee can filled with water atop the stove. The purpose was to humidify the air. Grandma relied on simple remedies. I should tell you about her trust in camphor oil, but that’s for another post. Young people are encouraged to notice the wall paper. That was Grandpa’s profession, and the fifties were the glory days of wallpaper.

I pulled up the USA Today temperature map just now. On my Tucson porch it was 42 degrees a little while ago. Many states have similar temperatures, some colder, some not so cold. We all deal with the morning chill in our own way. May you enjoy yours.

You still want to be normal?

I catch myself several times a day wanting to be normal. I obsess on it. I don’t even know what normal is, but I want it. I crave it. Is that normal?

There are thousands of reminders all around us of the joys that come to the person who abandons the search for normal. Rumi is a classic in this genre. Right now I can’t find my copy of The Essential Rumi, and that most definitely is not normal.

Are giraffes normal? Maybe, if compared to other giraffes, but not if compared to, say, aardvarks, or gorillas.

The word normal has all kinds of intricate technical definitions. You have heard of the normal curve? It probably isn’t a good word to apply to people at all.

I found an interesting post on Christina Sell’s blog titled Not Normal. Christina is a remarkable yoga teacher who tours a lot. She writes:

The thing is that these early texts are so not about “being happy” or “being successful” or even “being yourself” in the way we often talk about it as modern practitioners. Originally hatha yoga was for one thing— raise kundalini for your awakening. So I suppose if you got happier along the way, great. But the point was awakening. Period.

You go, girl!

I have begun to realize that my objective in life is to manage my state of mind. Good things happen in a calm mind. I don’t really have any notions about “what” will happen in that calmness. I trust Nature to handle that according to her wisdom. This submission enables me to release the pursuit of happiness in favor of something I do not control. What I now admire is a stillness that provides a setting for something I cannot yet imagine.

Perhaps that is not normal, but more and more it is my story, and I hope to stick to it.