Confessions of a Madman: Insights into Living and Coping With ADHD

3:07:02 PM EST
Feeling Embarrassed
Hearing Jazz Hello there,

Well it would seem my first attempt at doing an online journal for my grandchild flopped. The site just wouldn't let me in anymore even though I had the correct password! Wrote tha dang thing down and everything.

Not one to give up without a fight I'm giving it another go at Blogsome. I've included my old entries just to keep it going. I so enjoy not being distracted by all the dancing, blinking adds. Another great feature is that anyone can leave a comment is they wish. It is a pretty boring blog right now but in time I might be able to figure out how to change the backdrop, add photos, and add links in the sidebar so I can highlight your journals from here.

So thanks for bearing with me. I hope yoou can get there and will find time to visit. My latest entry to "Junior" is a bit bleak but holds hope and promise I hope.

Until next time dear friends, be well, laugh often, play hard.

Shalom.

Michael

Here is the spot:
http://dearjunior.blogsome.com/

or try clicking here
Blog To my Grandchild

"If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere."

Vincent Van Gogh


Me in front of the fireplace at "the Mansion"


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12:55:34 PM EST
Feeling Ecstatic
Hearing Still Christmas tunes Hello all, I hope you have survived the holiday season intact and ready to face 2008.

I just HAVE to share the wonderful news with you that my love and I discovered over the Holiday that we are going to be grandparents in July? My daughter and her hubby, who is still slowly recovering from his plane crash of 3 years ago, are expecting!!!

Not knowing what lies ahead for me and soooooo wanting our grandchild to know about his/her heritage I have decided to begin writing letters to the child. Right now this is our only grandchild with no real possibility of more on the horizon... if more come along?... Well this could turn into letters to the grandchildren. Will cross that bridge when it comes along.

I decided it might be worth it to post these "Letters to Junior" in a blog, which I have done. Wanting to stretch my wings beyond AOL I have begun a blog at thoughts.com and my screen name is "Pep" which is short for "pepere" (not sure of the spelling) and that is French Canadian for grandfather.

I would like to invite you and all your readers to come over and check it out. Please feel free to spread the word anyway you can. You know me, I love comments and feedback. Of course you also know that once school begins anew it will be tough to keep this going. But I'm motivated now.

As always thanks for stopping by and be well... laugh often... play hard.

Michael

"Character is like a tree and reputation like its shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing."
-Abraham Lincoln


Here is the URL to my new blog:
 http://www.thoughts.com/index.php?_action=blog_view&id=44473&type=1

If this doesn't work try going to www.thoughts.com and look up "Pep"

Or try this link:
Letters to Junior: Pep


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1:05:47 AM EST
Feeling Hopeful
Hearing Christmas Jazz Silent night, holy night… All is calm, all is bright…

    Night has spread a blanket of darkness across the land and the city has settled in for a long winter’s nap. The hand of Creation has brushed lightly all about our home. A fresh layer of snow, sprinkled with heavenly glitter, shimmers beneath the corner streetlight.  Above, the Milky Way has aligned its glistening jewels in the velvety heavens as a brisk frosty wind drives wisps of clouds eastward. Winter’s icy breath has frosted the bedroom windows and sent subzero fingers of air probing beneath doorjambs. Inside, the ol’ dragon in the basement belches enough heat to keep our home a refuge from the cold. Tristan purrs contentedly besides me and Tasha has settled into her favorite cat bed next to the living room heat vent. Preparations for the Holiday Season are in full swing as spritz cookies are cooling on the counter, another puppet set has been packaged and addressed for a customer in Tennessee, and the stack of  “graded” final projects is almost equal to the “read and review” mountain heaped on a kitchen chair. Though there is more to accomplish (isn’t this always the case?) it is time to pause for reflection on the close of another year. It has been a time of celebration, frustration, patience, and anticipation.
    Michael gave us all cause for celebration when he completed the long journey to achieving his PhD in August and walked across the stage to get “Hooded” at the summer graduation ceremony. He is enjoying his second year at the University as an assistant professor in the Department of T and L. As the Early Childhood Education Program Coordinator, Michael has found plenty of paperwork to replace his dissertation as his department prepares for NCATE re-accreditation in April of 2008. Recently Michael was informed that students have nominated him for an Outstanding Professor Award for both graduate and undergraduate teaching.
    It has been a frustrating year watching our home slowly be emptied out, pictures removed from walls, treasured mementoes packed away, excess belongings hauled up to storage in UniversityTown as we prepared our home of twenty-four years for the volatile and uncertain housing market. Throughout the process we have questioned how much “stuff” we really need at this point in our lives. We’ve been left wondering when does a home simply become a house, a showplace for potential buyers to overlay their own vision of “home” upon the shell where a family of five lived and laughed, and loved for nearly twenty-five years? After nearly six months on the market and a drought of potential buyers, we have decided to wait and see what will become of Michael’s 3-year contract.
    While the house was slowly being emptied and Michael drove back and forth to the U, his love has remained in town to keep Second Street Puppets in production and await the non-existent onslaught of house buyers. She has witnessed our feline clan dwindle down to two. In February our beloved Tootsie ended her twenty years of life in her arms and Thomas, our gentle giant Main Coon cat, succumbed to complications from feline diabetes in September. Thomas was our faithful shop cat and Michael’s love sorely misses his presence on and around the sewing machine as she prepares for the Summer 08 craft season.
    Change is on the horizon for N as she finishes up her geology major at MSU. This summer she attended six weeks of field school that brought her to examine woolly mammoth fossil remains in South Dakota, map out the geological terrain of Yellowstone, and scour the desert highlands of Wyoming for geological anomalies. After graduating in May N is planning a trip to Japan to visit her cousin, and considering a two-year commitment to the Peace Corps. She and B may return to the old homestead to rent their old bedrooms while mapping out the next stage of life’s journey.
     Throughout the year we have made several trips to northern Minnesota to visit B. While the scenery is beautiful and the pine forests of northeastern MN are a sight to behold, B has developed some allergies to the area and plans to head home in February. He has been doing a lot of running and weight lifting as he trains for entering some triathlons in 2008. After examining several options he is considering either a career in construction management or applying for the firefighting training program at the Lake Superior College or Hennepin Technical College.
    From Australia to Zaire, Alaska to West Virginia - packages from all over the world and the USA find their way into the cargo bay of M’s plane as she continues to enjoy flying freight up and down the Dakotas. In August she switched cargo companies and now flies freight for UPS. Currently she has earned the rank of captain and flies one of the largest planes a pilot can fly solo, a Metro-liner. J is continuing the slow and painful recovery from his plane crash of nearly three years ago. Having spent most of his life in the warmer climes of Arizona and southern California, he continues to anticipate leaving these harsh North Dakota winters behind and returning to the southwest.
    While the term traveling conjures up images of Michael driving up and down the desolate stretches on I-29 between Fargo and U-Town there were a few other memorable journeys we made in 2007. In late July, Michael, J, and N made their annual trek to the “End of the Road” to set up shop at the Blueberry Fest in scenic Ely MN.  While in Ely they visited their good friends Pat and Donna; went 2,341 feet below the surface to trek the Cadillac of iron ore mines the Sudan Mine; studied wolves at the International Wolf Center; and enjoyed an outdoor concert of the Boundary Water Boys. In November J joined Michael when he attended the annual conference of the National Association for the Education of Young Children in Chicago, IL. The train ride to Chicago was both relaxing and productive. Michael found a gem of a hotel in the heart of Chinatown that was surrounded by fine Oriental cuisine within walking distance of the convention center, and a block from the city bus stop and an L-train station. J brought Michael to see the elephants and other sites at the Chicago Field Museum, while Michael escorted J to explore the far reaches of the universe at the Hayden Planetarium.
    This year has reminded us that life is ever-changing and with every challenge comes the opportunity for unexpected blessings. We didn’t sell our house but did make some needed repairs, painted several rooms, and had the chance to reduce and reuse some our excess possessions. Michael still doesn’t have a tenure teaching position but has completed an essential task of attaining a terminal degree that will open doors in the future. While still living apart we are going to celebrate the Holidays together in Michael’s Grand Forks digs that we have come to refer as “The Mansion.” He has taken up residence in a defunct sorority house that is only two blocks from his office. The old Tri-Delt House is a three story building with 22 bedrooms, multiple bathrooms, a formal dining room that seats 40, a formal living room with a fireplace and grand piano, “smoking room,” TV/recreation room, and an expansive kitchen. Michael is the only current resident and is doing some caretaker duties while the fate of the Mansion is determined. We’ve decided to Deck the Halls and invite family up to Grand Forks for “Christmas in the Mansion!”
    Wherever life’s paths have led you in 2007, we wish only the best for you and yours in 2008. In a world where tales of war, famine, Global Warming, and economic hardships are only an electronic click away, a message of Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Humankind may seem a whisper amidst a cacophony of woes. Yet we know it is the actions of individuals that can forge new paths of hope. We wish you a Holiday Season and New Year blessed with peace, good health, and the opportunity to be an agent of hope and change in a world awaiting the realization of Peace on Earth and Goodwill to Humankind.

Shalom,

Michael Family


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9:06:01 PM EDT
Feeling Anxious
Hearing KJAZ Radio It’s hot and humid… like a sticky Fourth of July Fair Day where every movement elicits beads of perspiration that adheres clothing to body. It is as if September has abdicated, relinquished control to allow her sultry, steamy sister July another turn at the helm. I’m seated at my favorite table, located at the edge of the grassy, campus mall. The campus “bell tower” has dutifully chimed off another half-hour. Getting closer to 5 PM and feeding time at the zoo. Clots of students, faculty, and administrators navigate the maze of concrete sidewalks dissecting the lawns.
    Most students are still decked out in their full summer regalia. Gals prowl in short-shorts painted on rounded buttocks and tanned thighs while their breasts seem barely contained in loose fitting tops or packed tight in strapless halter-tops. Men strut about in nylon sport-shorts, or baggy pants hardly hanging onto non-existent hips. Many have thrown on a t-shirt adverting beer, our local U, or various musical groups. Those who have the build, and some who don’t, let their toned 6-packs show through netted tee’s or bulge beneath tank-tops.
    Administrators are the most obvious. They shuffle about in dark designer dress pants, necks secured in a noose that binds them to their responsibilities while stains of sweat expand beneath each arm. Some stroll casually across campus, suit jacket unceremoniously slung across one shoulder. Others wear their suits like armor against the ever oppressive, mounting duties of their calling. One suit strides along quickly, a black computer case tucked under his arm as if it contains the secret codes for an alien invasion and even now agents close in. He pushes black-rimmed spectacles up the dampened bridge of a long, sloping nose as he tap dances past in patent leather shoes.      Beneath a stand of fir trees three guys stop for an impromptu game of hacky-sac (I thought that game had exited with the 90’s). They apparently concur with July’s stifling return and have declared summer immortal. One lad in dreadlocks nimbly bounces the hacky off one knee and sends it sailing to another guy whose shaven head glistens in the late afternoon sunlight. Watching them from a distance they seem to be immersed in a carefully choreographed dance, each move rehearsed a hundred times.
    Here in the northern plains we need to enjoy every last snippet and delusion of summer. September has only paused to gather her skirts. A glance at the forecast promises cooler temperatures by Thursday, with temps only tickling 60 by Friday. Global Warming or no we rest on the teeter-totter of seasons where in a few weeks time even winter could poke a whitened head in and whip up a little frost and snowflakes.


    Meanwhile our home has slowly been transformed into a house.  Stripped of family photos, knickknacks, mementos, and much of its furniture our beloved home of nearly twenty-four years has been gutted for the market. When is a home not a home? At what point is it merely a bookmark keeping our place between the chapters of our lives? The bare wall echo as we discuss our future in hushed tones, and the wood floors creak when we tip-toe from room to room seeking the soul that has fled our once vibrant home.
    My love has reported that she feels like an intruder in her own home, the pressure to keep each room meticulous for the ever anticipated “showing” that never seems to materialize. It took us nearly a year to ready our home for the market and now even the patched and painted walls and refinished wood floors can’t resurrect the cozy, comforting home we raised our family in.
    Gone is the warm, undulating, inviting waterbed that enticed you in then lulled you unconscious with its seascape motion and cushy, multi-colored comforter.  Our family spent many a Saturday and Sunday morning piled into the bed rehashing the week’s events and listening to my love retell favorite stories from her past. Like the overstuffed bed in the Napping House by Audrey & Don Woods, our bed held a clan of cats, a trio of siblings, couple of parents, and literally overflowed with stuffed animals. Yet it was in many ways the center of our home. Exhausted and ill children gravitated towards the warm confines of our waterbed. Two beloved cats spent their last hours curled upon our little ocean until death ushered them away.
    Did we do the correct thing to heed the advice of several realtors and clean out the clutter, strip the walls, and empty out the excess furniture so potential buyers can envision their possessions in the confines of our abode? The walls did need painting and patching and there was NO WAY to get around the monstrous waterbed dominating our room. And once emptied the twenty year old mattress seemed to deteriorate before my eyes. It has been over two months and yet only one showing. We’ve reduced the price, painted most of the rooms, and heeded as much advice on home selling as we can afford. Alas I fear my love is losing heart and getting depressed. While I travel north to work she must reside in the skeletal remains of our dwelling. Without selling the house there is no financing another place where I work, so we wait and pray and hope. I’m remaining strong and optimistic that it WILL sell and the right buyer is just around the corner. Yet my love’s pessimistic and dark mood is tough to shake.
    Like September we are in the midst of change and our lives ride the teeter-totter of hope. Maybe tomorrow… maybe the Market will turn soon… maybe we will be together by… Halloween?... Thanksgiving? Christmas. Assuming the best, we have packed away all our holiday decorations… and my love doesn’t seem to have the heart to ponder another holiday in the shell that was once our home. Recently a tornado devastated a community not far from where I work. Many homes were either totally destroyed or severely damaged. We are blessed with a house that is intact, in really wonderful shape, and can provide us shelter from the elements until it sells. What is at the root of our distention is being ripped apart, living separate lives when this was to be a time to enjoy each other now that our children have moved on (sort of).
    It is so hard to balance all these emotions… gratitude at having a home, frustration at not being able to share it. Not wanting to sound selfish but knowing time is against us before more than miles separate us.
    Somehow I have to keep the faith and remember that this too shall pass. Thanks for stopping by.

Until next time… Be well. Laugh often. Play hard.

Be gentle and you can be bold; be frugal and you can be liberal; avoid putting yourself before others, and you can become a leader among men.
    -Lao-tse



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1:56:56 AM EDT
Feeling Chillin'
Hearing KJAZ Radio The campus is hushed and still as the last rays of sunshine slant through stately elms who stretch their leafy branches protectively across manicured lawns. It’s the calm before the storm, the last bit of solace before students begin swarming the campus tomorrow for orientation and then Monday when classes resume. This is my favorite time of day, when night and day meet, exchange a handshake and collaborate to paint the western horizon. Sometimes their work is dazzling with brilliant colors strewn out across the heavens. Other times their efforts are thwarted by an evening storm or a sky so devoid of clouds that the sun can only slide beneath the horizon in a blaze of red and orange. Today’s sunset is partially obscured by incoming clouds from the west holding the much-anticipated promise of rain. Although the colors are not stunning the escaping light has turned many of the approaching storm clouds deep purple and a velvety azure.

Out of the silence emerges the clickity-clack sound of wheels rhythmically striking cracks in the sidewalk. Soon a young lad makes his way past a line of buildings, his long hair swept behind, hands dangling at his side while he occasionally kicks out at the sidewalk to propel himself forward. He seems much too young to be attending university … or is it that I am getting too old? As he rounds a corner and disappears two red squirrels dash my way, engaged in a game of tag or chase. Their chatter echoes off the nearby buildings as they begin running round and round a sculpture to my left. From the frantic sound of their chatter they could be arguing about who’s tree is the highest or warning one-another to stay away from their winter stores. The lead squirrel sprints for a tree, gets halfway up, runs back down the other side and is off like a shot into the distance. Two girls and a boy stroll by, steeped in conversations about parents, work, and a boring summer. “My parents are so fr****ng dull. They are like in bed every night by 9:30! It’s barely dark and they’re like soooo tired!” They all laugh. The other girl pipes up, “Sh…it yeah. Half the time I’m not ready to go out until my parents are in bed. Then they get all pissed cause I didn’t like tell them I was going out.” All three roll their eyes while the petite blond continues, “Like I’m going to barge in and maybe…” she pauses as if loathe to continue, “…like interrupt them doing SOMETHING.” A chorus of moans and shudders erupts from the group as they move on.

Next week the campus will be so crowded with bodies, so full of conversations that everything and everyone will blend together. Tonight however, every passing creature is an intrusion easy to notice and comment upon. Even the dull roar of distant cars can be clearly distinguished in the distance. As for me I sit here and watch the night overcome the day.

I still can’t believe another school year is about to begin. Although I don’t have my dissertation to worry about it seems like there are already several new tasks to replace it. There is new committee work to accomplish, articles to write, and of course the BIGGIE is the accreditation visit that will happen this spring. Lucky me I get write the early childhood report for this visit. Another document that should consist of many pages… more trees to be sacrificed for our requirements. However, the biggest task to accomplish is selling our house where I used to work and buy another up here. Not going well so far although it has only been 36 days or so. Yet my love is getting quite antsy and discouraged at being left alone again all week when I travel up here to teach. She hates us being separated and it is taking a toll on her. We’ve been trying to spiff up the house a bit… painting the insides, getting rid of the old carpet, emptying out the house of our belongings.

But that’s for another time as I’m all done in and need to get up early to meet with some of the freshmen and share my insights as professor poor blokes. Thanks for listening and leaving a comment, it means a lot to know you are here.

Until next time… Be well… Laugh often … Play hard.

“Next to knowing when to seize an opportunity, the most important thing in life is to know when to forgo and advantage.”
- Disraeli



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1:46:16 AM EDT
Feeling Ecstatic
Hearing Johnny Cash

Night descended slowly upon the land, as if summer was reluctant to draw the curtain of darkness upon another day. Summer is waning and her days are numbered. A feeble breeze wheezes through the trees like the breath of a dying man, warm and sweet with the scent of decay. The sewage ponds of the local beet plant have graced our fair city with a fragrance of burnt sugar and rot. August turned up the heat, and the humidity after last night’s brief rain hit 90% providing a morning fog that enveloped the city, swallowing whole the houses of our neighborhood. Tonight we made the pilgrimage to the local Dairy Queen along with hundreds of others. For one day only area Dairy Queens (perhaps state or nationwide?) donate all their Blizzard proceeds to the Children’s Miracle Network helping children and their families battle a range of diseases and illnesses. While sitting at the picnic table a steady line of people shuffled, jumped, and skipped by to claim their Blizzard treat. In that line it seemed every ghost of summer passed us by. There were softball players, some still in cleats, their legs held-up by long, black socks. Mothers with strollers crowded into the line, some with several other children vibrating besides them or swinging from the stroller handles like mini-gymnasts. Bicyclists in body-clinging spandex shorts cradled colorful helmets while their thighs threatened to escape the spandex confines. A few farmers, the dust of the wheat harvest still clinging to their denim overalls, stood with stout arms folded, their skin browned and wrinkled by working in the sun. A gaggle of teenage girls in tight fitting jeans giggled and preened as their nimble fingers slid effortlessly over cell phone buttons while they conversed, waved, and hooted at passing vehicles. From all walks of life to all ages, the endless line of hungry, treat seekers flowed past our table.

 

For some summer is a guest who lingers long past her appointed time, a bit like winter in the Northland. But here, once the Back to School posters hit the stores, and the business marquis announce “Welcome Back Students” we know summer’s days are numbered. Despite the warm Autumn months we have been experiencing last several years weknow winter is not far behind with subzero temperatures, ice coated roads, and frigid butt-freezing car seats that numb the buns while the car whines and shivers and possibly starts. Although I LOVE winter and look forward to a change in climate … most dread the arrival of Jack Frost and cling desperately to the final, gasping, glorious days of summer. And so we gather at the DQ to meet old friends and new, and watch the iron horse roll through town at the rate of 5-6 trains an hour. Last week while enjoying a kit-kat Blizzard (me) and chocolate-chip-cookie dough Blizzard (my love)  we ended up sitting with two elderly ladies who were total strangers. Yet after a brief conversation we discovered they grew up right across our ally and dearly departed Virginia -a spunky, independent widow who built her own deck and shingled her garage - was their mom. Oh yes it is a small word governed by happen-chance and good fortune. We had a wonderful conversation with these ladies before they dashed off to take their grandkids for an evening walk before tucking the wee lads and lassies into bed.

 

 

I’ve been trying to process the reality that I have officially, actually, truly completed my PhD and graduated. I passed the orals exam, passed all the other requirements, jumped through the necessary hoops, paid the perfunctory fees, and walked the walk across the stage to be “hooded” and handed my doctorate degree. A strange feeling indeed to have finally completed a journey begun seven years ago that has cost me thousands of dollars, some still to be paid back, and been a source of contention that cost me a job of 24 years because the process was NOT completed soon enough. Yet it IS done, finished, completed with no more coursework to struggle through, no more chapters to have formatted and edited, no more dollars to borrow and pay out. And yet… yet as I sit and ponder this achievement old ghosts emerge from my sorted past to cast their shadows on this achievement. I find myself hesitant to tell others lest they think I am bragging or indicating I’m smarter or better than them. Voices of teachers long gone and perhaps rotting taunt me, “Retarded like your brother.” … “You’ll be lucky if you’re not in jail by the time you are 19.” … “Not college material, best to go to a vocational school and learn a trade.”

            “Dr. Michael… so what?” My past taunts me, “You are no better than anyone else.” And I agree, I am no better… nor am I no less. That’s not the point, it’s not about putting myself above or below anyone else. Can intelligence be measured by a degree or a collection of 145 pages with words I typed upon them? Can I inform others around me that I am now suddenly smarter than them because I’m a doctor (PhD) now? Tell the guy I had to bring our lawn mower to yesterday because the damn thing just died and refused to come to life no matter how hard I pulled the cord. Tell the plumber who comes to our house to keep the tree roots from clogging our sewer and sending rivers of black, putrid sludge across the basement floor and bubbling up into the basement tub. Can I place myself above the vet who came last fall to put our dear Tootsie to sleep after her diabetes and cancer ravaged her sleek, black body, that shriveled with disease? No… I am the same guy who started this whole journey 7 years ago. In the end I dispel the ghosts of school years past with a wave of my dissertation. I deserve to dance my HAPPY DANCE, jump for joy, yell ecstatically, and burst with pride. Not because I’ve suddenly become better than others or smarter. Quite simply, I have increased my knowledge of ADHD and college students, made some conclusions, and perhaps have the opportunity to make some recommendations to those working with students with ADHD. But even more important I celebrate completing the journey, setting a goal and accomplishing that task, no matter how long it took and ignoring the fact that others who began when I did finished years before me. This is NOT about comparisons; it’s about accomplishing a task.

 

 

            I wonder how often in our lives we let others define our lives, and draw limits around the possibilities we can accomplish? The sucking vortex of negative comments and judgments can reach us from the depths of our past and keep us down or at least shackle us with limitations eons old. Don’t let that happen to you or those you love. Let the window of opportunity and the door of possibility remain open.

           

            The plan is to make more regular entries here… realistically I’m thinking once or twice a week… some thoughtful writing… some reflections or observations. I have too much invested here to abandon it but also have to accept the reality that there is wayyyy too much stuff going on out here in the "real world"  to commit much more that once or twice a week. I’ve got some mighty fine friends here in J-Land that I want to keep in touch with, and there are others I’ve not even met yet.

 

Until next time be well…… laugh often……… play hard.

 

 

 

 Integrity is doing what you said you would do, when you said you would do it, and how you would do it.

            -Byrd Baggett, motivational speaker

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1:20:39 PM EDT
Feeling Frustrated
Hearing "Welcome to my NIghtmare" - Alice Cooper

I hate to paint... despise it, detest and deplore the very idea of  covering an area of room, floor, door, wall, or other such place with a layer of paint. Don’t get me wrong dear reader I absolutely love the look of something newly painted, when done properly. There is something divine in the way a fresh coat of paint can transform a drab, beat-up, chipped surface into something so clean and fresh. Just please in the name of all things holy let someone else do this dastardly task. My current impression of the concept of hell would be to be locked in an endless series of rooms with nooks, crannies, woodwork, and of course a brand new, plush carpet upon the floor. My tormentor would then hand me all the tools of a painter including various sized rollers, brushes, pads, etc and then tell me each room must be meticulously and perfectly covered in an even layer of paint. Every dollop of paint not landing upon the intended painted surface; i.e. paint on the carpet or stained woodwork, or my 3-piece black pinstriped suit; would be like a touch of flame upon my skin. You see, when I paint the devilish liquid takes on a life of its own and begins to explore the room, my body, and the entire house independently. I have covered the entire floor with layers of plastic, covered that with newsprint, and still paint gets on the floor!! I can set the paint cover in the next county yet still somehow I manage to step in it and suddenly I am dancing about trying NOT to foot paint floor and furniture. It may take me two hours to use that miraculous blue painters tape to carefully, and effectively cover all woodwork, floor, and light fixtures yet somehow… somehow that damnable liquid color gets under the tape or finds that ONE PLACE the tape did not cover or somehow lifted up away from. Oh dear Creator save me from another moment with paintbrush in hand and a surface before me awaiting transformation. Part of my dilemma is that I so want the task to be neat, clean, evenly covered, and all that other stuff… therefore it takes me MORE time to prepare to paint something then the actual painting. And then there is clean up, oh no dear reader we don’t have time to get into THAT fiasco! I’d throw everything away after every effort if money wasn’t so, so, SO very tight!

 

I could rant on for much longer but alas I’ve already run out of time. For you see… I have to get back to… painting. If this is my last entry you will be able to find me in the local establishment with padded rooms, the attendants still trying to pry a paintbrush from my clenched fists while a look of anguish is… well.. painted upon my colorful, bespeckled face. Perhaps you will find me wandering your fair city panhandling upon the street with an open paint can set out before me as I pantomime over and over and over again a frustrated, desperate man painting an imaginary wall or ceiling. Be generous my friends, they say therapy is a costly venture.

 

Be well… Laugh often… Play hard.

 

“There is only one real failure in life that is possible, and that is not to be true to the best one knows.”

-John Farar, Australian composer

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3:08:50 PM EDT
Feeling Quiet
Hearing Caberet - The Soundtrack Today the sky is a mosaic of clouds as if the Creator was experimenting with new designs. Slung low across the horizon are purplish, black and blue clouds resembling massive bruises in the heavens as if an airliner took off too swiftly and slapped the sky with massive wings. To the west a cobweb of thin clouds barely masks the azure sky. Perhaps the Creator has employed an army of spiders to sling massive webs across the firmament then let the prevailing winds rip into them. While living in Japan a friend once informed me that one of the Japanese words for “cloud” was also the same word for “spider” reflecting the image of spider web-like clouds. As a matter of fact there is a folk tale from Nippon about a spider who went up into the sky to weave clouds for the gods. Off to the east a ray off sunshine pokes through the cloud cover to illuminate a patch of farmland. I half expect to gaze that way and see the ray of sunshine illuminating the garden of Gethsemane with Jesus kneeling in prayer while his disciples reposed on a nearby carpet of grass. My grandmother had a velvet painting with that theme upon her living room wall. She would scold me vehemently every time I would run my fingers over the velvety texture of Jesus and his dozing disciples.

Although the ninety-minute drive north to work has been taking a financial toll as fuel prices continue to rise, the drive itself is a wonderful opportunity to reflect and relax on the open, desolate stretch of interstate. On this day I drive through intermittent showers that douse the car with sudden downpours that exhaust themselves after a few moments. It is like driving under a huge sprinkler controlled by a child who delights in the power of turning the spigot on and off… on and off. At the moment we have an active, busy sky with lower level cottony clouds being buffeted about by a steady northerly wind that strrrrrrreeetches the cotton ball clouds out and shoves one pile of fluff into another. Hmm… perhaps that is where those bruised looking clouds came from? These lower clouds remind me of the way I would encourage the preschool children in my classroom to made “cloudy day” pictures.They would have a bowl of cotton balls, some glue, and a piece of blue paper before them. IF they desired it was suggested they could elongate and extend the cotton to cover the sky and decide what else to place in the sky or draw land below. One year there was a girl who was a “chanter,” and often she would turn a word or phrase into a chant, that she would rhythmically repeat over and over. On the day we were making cloud pictures she began the “cloud chant,” by repeating, “I am making cloudy day, cloudy day, cloudy day… I am making cloudy day.” Orations like this are often contagious with preschoolers, therefore it wasn’t long before all eight or ten children sitting at the table were chanting, “We are making cloudy day, cloudy day, cloudy day… we are making cloudy day.”  I remember resisting the urge to strangle her and silence the group but instead recorded their voices with a little tape recorder I kept handy. Later I added rhythm instruments, clapping, and movements as we danced around the room to the “cloudy day,” chant. Eventually we had to add a “sunny day chant,” and “rainy day chant,” (both the children’s ideas… mostly). I’m sure if I tried that today there would be criticism for wasting time with such foolishness when I should be “teaching” them their letters and numbers… but oh what a joyful experience to delve into a child’s view of the world.

Unfortunately I don’t live in that child’s world now and need to attend to something far more arduous and monotonous… writing a report for an upcoming accreditation visit. Although I would much prefer to spend more time with you dear reader… if any there be after my long hiatus… this time together must suffice for now.

I hope you are well and making the most of this day no matter the hand you are dealt to play on this one of a kind July day. Until next time… Laugh often… Play hard … Be well.

“The dictionary is the only place where success comes before work.”
-Dale Carnegie


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6:19:25 PM EDT
Feeling Hopeful
Hearing "Linda Goes to Mars" - John Prine July was birthed in the early morning beneath the light of a veiled full moon that hid her face behind a thin mask of clouds as if in deference of the new arrival. I barely knew her sister June, who ushered in summer while weeping enough tears for Spring’s demise to overflow the Red River of the North several times. Although most in the northland cherish deeply the brief but stunning existence of the Three Sisters – May, June, and July – I have barely had time to inhale the sweet fragrance of May’s lilac perfume, or celebrate the summer solstice when June holds court over the longest day of the year. Dare I hold out more promise for reveling in July’s sultry presence and observing her passing days from the shade of yonder glade with book and chill drink in hand? With all that's stretched before me on my never-ending “To-Do List” July is likely to expire before my feet could even hit the sweltering turf that hems in yonder tree clad hills. Such are the sacrifices of scholars and fools alike, and there be a bit of both in me.

Yet hasn’t it been quoted that with great sacrifices can come great rewards? Sometimes yes … sometimes no. For me the months missed have left me wanting more time to rest and relax but my efforts since May graced this year 07 have not been for naught. Or so methinks. While May woke the daffodils and warmed Earth and sky I wrote and wrote. While June withered May’s lilac blooms and flooded the lands with monsoon rains I wrote and wrote some more. Threading together three years of research and near seven years of graduate studies I completed a task many thought impossible of me… including myself at times. On June 14 my committee met with me to lay verdict to the efforts put forth to complete the DD (Damn Dissertation). It was the first of two meetings to bring to light the research and writing this document represented. At the end of the rather brief meeting it was determined that the research was sound and the writing concise and crafted to merit little, minor alterations. In all practical purposes they had passed a very positive judgment on my work. I am nearly, almost, practically at goal’s end… but, not quite.

The one lasthurdle to pass will be this Friday the 13th of July at 2 PM Central Standard Time when I face the Oral Defense of my dissertation and research. Then, and only then will I be able to allow myself to put those two silly letters before my academic name, Dr. For all practical purposes it is a done deal and the Oral Defense is an opportunity, the first of many perhaps, to partake in public discourse the topic of my research. The public is invited to attend my presentation, although it is rare if anyone beyond the committee and a spouse attend. Considering how nervous I’ll be that will be fine with me. But if you think of it this Friday the 13th I would be obliged if you were to send a few positive vibes my way.

So you see dear reader I may have been away an extended time but haven’t been idle all those long months. There’s hope for the mad-folk of the world after all. Now back to my preparations for Friday. Hope all is well with you wherever you may be and may you find time to climb that hill and enjoy the view…. Even if it be only for a few moments.

Till next time… Laugh often. Play hard. Be well.

“When love and skill work together, expect a masterpiece.”
     -John Ruskin



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2:41:32 PM EDT
Feeling Hopeful
Hearing Jazz on KKJZ Hey there can you believe it is already Thursday?! YIKES! But I’ve had an extremely productive week, getting several pages of chapter 4 of my dissertation written and even completed a report on time.

I’ve been reading a very thought provoking book I picked up the other day called The Secret by Rhonda Byrne. Here is the premise of the book laid out on the back of the jacket cover:

It has been passed down through the ages, highly coveted, hidden, lost, stolen, and bought for vast sums of money. This centuries-old Secret has been understood by some of the most prominent people in history: Plato, Galileo, Beethoven, Edison, Carnegie, Einstein – (couldn’t help notice none of our leaders were included in that list including GWB) along with other inventors, theologians, scientists, and great thinkers. Now The Secret is being revealed to the world.

“As you learn The Secret, you will come to know how you can have, be, or do anything you want. You will come to know who you really are. You will come to know the true magnificence that awaits you in life.” –from the Introduction.

And the secret is… That our thoughts are the most powerful force in the universe and can shape everything from our lives to the universe itself! What is interesting for me is that I have read something similar in other books including “The Power of Positive Thinking” by Norman Vincent Peale… except with just a more religious tenor to it. Essentially the key to living a full and happy life is to fill your mind with positive images and positive thoughts. Actually I DO believe in this and often notice how my thoughts and attitude can have a profound effect on my life, what gets done, what happens. What do YOU think? Can you recall a time you were thinking of something, some one and suddenly BINGO a call from the person, an event happens to bring you closer to that desired thing or event. No doubt in my mind that our actions mirror our wants and desires. Consciously or unconsciously we work to fulfill those thoughts.

I found meaning in quotes from the book like:

Creation is always happening. Every time an individual has a thought, or a prolonged chronic way of thinking, they’re in the creation process. Something is going to manifest out of those thoughts.
-    Michael Bernard Beckwith

What amazed me is how this book promotes this information as being some big secret or conspiracy. This has been out there forever… thing is many people either don’t belive in it, dismiss it, or don’t try to put it into practice. But what is Prayer?... if done long enough a sustained, chronic way of thinking. What is depression, same thing except in the negative wavelength. Oh the book also covers the Buddhist belief of the importance of seeing… a conscious awareness of our thoughts and happenings around us. Pretty interesting stuff really.

I have been trying to remain really positive all week, place images in my mind of me writing the dissertation, completing the report, having a great class. Of course I can’t just do that then take the rest of the day off. I must act upon those thoughts and images. And… it was been a very productive week and I don’t feel as stressed out as I sometimes do.

Found this quote to hit home:

Here’s the problem. Most people are thinking about what they don’t want, and they’re wondering why it shows up over and over again.
     John Assaraf

So here’s wishing you a weekend of positive, productive, uplifting thoughts and the actions to match.

Until next time be well.. laugh often, play hard.

Michael



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