Date:                           June 22, 2007

Location:                    Watsonville, CA                   

0800:

            We’re Back!

            Our trip to our east coast home is over and we have returned to our west coast home and our summer experiences at the Santa Cruz KOA.  I would guess that both of those facts are good news but also with some sadness attached.  It is always difficult to say good bye and the busy season is just starting at the campground so there will be more work than play, but that may be ok also.

            Our trip home was too short, too rushed and too wonderful to attempt to place in words.  Connie’s mom surprised us with a visit, aunt Jan and Susan placed us on their itinerary as they traveled to northern New York and oh yes, there was the ecstatic pleasure of being with our grandkids and there parents.  To simply say thank you to each and every one of the above would be so minimal, and yet to attempt to truly express our appreciation is far too impossible.  I can only hope that the memories of all the family members that were in North Collins at this early summer family gathering will be as pleasant as the memories that Connie and I have placed preciously in our life experience vault.

            On any event of wonder and pleasure one must have a seasoning of frustration or displeasure to balance the equation.  Our seasoning balance was not offered by any family event, thankfully.  It was offered by the pure hell of traveling through the maze of incompetence called “airport security.”  I will not bore you with the story or my humble, yet strong, opinion of false security forced on weary travelers that are manipulated into security hell at all airports.  I will just relate to you that I was relieved of a dangerous weapon, a money clip, at San Jose airport and Connie and I realized that you can not have decent meal at an airport because you are not allowed real tableware at Chicago’s O’Hare.  We all know that the “terrorist” of the world are meeting in a secret cabal to plan world domination with the use of money clips and forks.  We do live in a sick, dishonest world.

            The balance of the frustration found by flying in today’s world is as simple as a hug by your daughter, a morning kiss by your granddaughter, or the pleasure of enjoying a father’s day picnic atop a secluded hill with family, extended family and friends of all.  It is from this perspective that I will and choose to remember our very short trip to the east coast.

            Connie and I arrived back at our KOA home quite late in the evening, a reality of traveling west through time zones.  The drive home was very uneventful, since the “marine layer” had decided to take a vacation and the air was crisp and clear.  Once I found a gas station to fill a very hungry Chianti, things went very normally.  Connie may disagree slightly.  Traveling the roads of California is a little different than meandering around the hills of the east coast.  Our trip from San Jose to Santa Cruz winds through the redwoods and mountains of central California.  It is a picturesque drive during the day and a bit white knuckle at night.  I found it fun winding and twisting through the steep climbs and deep descents through the redwood forest.  I think Connie found it a bit more adventuresome as I could hear wind sucking sounds coming from that side of the car.  We made it home safe and I think Connie has finally let go of the door handle.

            We have started to get back into the real world of a work camper.  I have over charged a camper some 500 dollars, misdirected my report to some printer in cyberspace and suffered from sore feet.  Things are pretty normal.  We have had a seafood dinner at the Santa Cruz pier, grilled some fresh fish on our home grill, and enjoyed the most wonderful produce one could imagine.  Normal things are pretty wonderful.

            Our last week and a half disproves an old adage; “You can go home again.”  We did just that, and through the wonderful efforts of our daughter, we lived in the luxury of the arms of love.

Date:                           June 17, 2007

Location:                    North Collins, NY                

1030:

            Life is a collection of intimate ballets and it is so very easy to miss the performances.  We each have so many important things to do that we so often forget to take the time to observe what is being presented right before our eyes.  Again, my favorite philosophical sage has summed up this tenant of life in a simple but deep revelation.  As Yogi once said; “You can observe a lot just by watching.” 

            This morning was a special family event at our daughter’s home.  She has been the consummate host to not only her mother, an often traumatic stressful happening, but also the host to her Grandmother.  Just to add to the pleasure of being a normal busy mother with ball games, end of school projects, and normal family stresses she has taken on the chore of having a 60^th birthday celebration for her father and directing the special Father’s Day breakfast for Papa and the father of her children.  As fantastic as this all may seem I have found a new perspective, some what different, to enjoy these events as they are revealed before my eyes.  This morning I quietly sat and enjoyed the multi-generational ballet of making a pancake breakfast.

            To be able to watch a family work together is a pleasure and an event of joy; to know that the work that is being preformed is for your benefit and pleasure is even more wonderful.  This is the position that I found myself this morning.  Heidi was preparing a fantastic pancake breakfast as a celebration on this special Fathers Day.  This is wonderful in its simplicity but it is not the true pleasure that was to be preformed on this morning.  As the task of getting a family’s breakfast prepared and presented went forth the ballet began to be choreographed.  There was the need of cooking the food, setting the table, and presenting the finished product and to make this happen efficiently it was evident that Heidi was going to need some assistance.  Stepping forth to assist in any manner possible was daughter Elizabeth and Grandma Connie.  Yes, the stage was being set for a 3 generation ballet in the kitchen as breakfast was being created.

            With little direction and subliminal knowledge passing among the 3 generations mother Heidi positioned herself in the middle of the cooking counter and daughter Beth danced at her left in total control of the pancake skillet.  Grandma Connie had her roll as loose end catcher and on went the ballet.  Now, making breakfast is not a normal scene for a complicated ballet, and I did not perceive an enormous amount of complication.  It was just a special moment to see three generations working in a symphonic flow of kitchen chores.  The simplicity of running a kitchen can have its pitfalls, especially when it is a mixed cross generational event.  Grandma has been doing the chores forever, yet it is the daughter kitchen and the grandchild is trying to find her position in life’s evolution of kitchen protocol.  Yet this morning things seem to be so well orchestrated it must have been the result of months of rehearsal.  If the event of making breakfast itself had not been the result of long rehearsals it was very evident that long years of love were responsible for the level of respect from all ages.

            Sometime when you have nothing else to do, as I often find myself, take the time and effort to watch the ballet being performed before your eyes.  If you are very fortunate you will be in the audience observing an exhibition of years of respect and love culminating in a beautiful ballet of symphonic motions.  This special morning it was my pleasure to be such a audience member and witness to just such a ballet.

Generation 1   Played by daughter Elizabeth

Generation 2   Played by Mom Heidi

Generation 3   Played by Grandma Connie

            Just for your information the lead roll was really Generation 2 but she politely positioned herself in the middle to carry the ballet but to not be over powering.  Generation 1 played a staring roll but was closely monitored by the true staring member and Generation 3 played a supporting role without attempting to over play her assigned part.  There had been no true rehearsal as far as the physical ballet performed on this morning.  Yet this troupe of dancers have been carefully living and perfecting their roles with the utmost evidence of love and mutual respect.  Two simple traits but all to often lacking in other family ballets.

            Thank you Heidi; for the Father’s Day Morning Ballet, the morning family pancake breakfast and especially for the emotional, tear producing Father’s Day card.  Someday when I can speak of the card without tears I will attempt to let you know just how special that seemingly simple card was and how very much it meant to me. 

Date:                           June 16, 2007

Location:                    North Collins, NY                

1100:

            After giving one of my famous opinionated sermons to our family about the degradation of society that is caused by all electronic devices and the surreal life lived via computers I decided to sit down and write myself a letter, on my computer.  Is that hypocrisy or just me being me?  I guess it really does not matter, because here I am having a conversation with my key board and living a life thorough the screen of my PC.  I guess it matters little what is wrong with society as long as we all continue to promote the weaknesses of living a life in today’s world.  But back to the reason I am living this hypocritical existence, and the letter to myself.

Dear Rob,

            I know that it has been a bit of a long time since I have bothered to place myself in front of my computer and attempt to update my blog.  If anyone is ever reading this constant thought meandering they would by now realize that I am no longer in California and it has been over 2 weeks since my last entry.  This may or may not mean anything to anyone but it is a fact and an attempt to bring things up to date quickly.  Since my last blog entry my wife and I have spent a weekend in San Francisco, and flown home to celebrate the 60^th birthday of some old duffer with his family.  These are kind of big moments in most people’s lives, but I have decided to not bother and record them.  It is purely a selfish reason that I have followed to place me in this position.  It may even be a small bit of self pity that has caused this self imposed hiatus.  You see, I feel that no one is reading my exhibitions of prose, so why should I expend the effort.  If this is not wallowing in self pity, what other example could there be? 

When ever I trudge into the valley of over self involvement, my lovely wife seems able, and more than willing, to light the path to rescue.  It was with guiding temperament that she reminded me that I had been very lax in my blog entries.  I had not recorded any of our weekend in San Francisco and now I am setting in our daughter’s home after being treated to a wonderful birthday celebration.  All of this and not a single word has been recorded for posterity.  My laziness is causing these moments to pass into history with not a single reflection.  Connie reminded me that it is not the world that needs to be informed of our life, it is the future “us” that needs this information recorded.  As we age, and God knows we are all doing that, these little excursions into my mind and experiences will be the foundation of our memories as we reflect on the life that we have lived.  So, I guess I am not writing these blogs for you, although you may feel free to continue to read them, I am recording these thoughts for my wife and me in our old age.  It is from this prospective that I must relate a story we experienced while in San Francisco, last week end.

            Connie and I were enjoying our chances to ride on the cable cars and enjoy the misty weather of San Francisco in the early summer.  We had already been to Fisherman’s Wharf and not seen the Golden Gate Bridge.  It had been hidden somewhere in a giant bank of “Marine Layer” just past the island housing Alcatraz.  As frustrating as that may sound, we were enjoying the pleasure strolling through the streets of San Francisco on a cool summer day.  We had decided to walk down Lombard Street and enjoy the flowers and then walk to the Coit Tower located atop Telegraph Hill.  This short walk was a bit more exercise than you might at first think.  San Francisco is a city built on and among hills that run from the main land to the Pacific Ocean.  These hills are not slow rolling bumps in the earth.  They are steep forbidding climbs that are just as extreme as they appear in any movie that you have ever seen.  That is the reason for cable cars.  In the previous century neither engine nor beast could pull a vehicle up and over these hills.  Thus, was invented a cable system to pull the trolleys up the extremely steep streets.

            It was as we were mountain climbing up one of the quaint house lined neighborhood streets that we passed a large and magnificent twin spired Catholic Church.  It was a white structure that towered above the apartment and townhouse lined street that beckoned us from across the city.  Of course we had to venture inside to view the beauty form within as well as from without.  A slight glitch in our plan was to arise as we noticed that a service was taking place and we did not want to impolitely impose our tourist attitude on the somber occasion occurring.  We did notice that another person had quietly walked into the church and that did not seem to be too intrusive, so we carefully opened the doors and attempted to stealthily enter the sanctuary.  It is a very large cathedral and it appeared that a funeral service was taking place way down by the alter.  Feeling like we were not being disrespectful we decided to remain in the back of this beautiful church and observe a bit of real emotion and the celebration of a man’s life.  He had been baptized in this church some 80 years earlier and was now honored as he was being spiritually prepared to leave this world.  We may well have been interlopers on this private moment in this families life, but it was with the utmost respect that we shared just a few moments with a family as they expressed their love for a man that we had never had the honor of meeting, but on some level we could also empathize and sympathize with the emotions of love and loss that were being expressed.

            A young lady was relating a story about how a special recital piece had been secretly practiced and played just to please the author of this memorial piece.  It almost seemed that the man being placed to rest was the piano student and, somehow this young adult was the recipient of the honored surprise.  The time line and perception of age did all seem to fit, but it was a story of love and remembrance, much as you always hear at these occasions.  A moment of memory being shared about a life that was richly lived and enjoyed.  It was a moment of love and experience that I was living even if I was not sure I understood the facts behind the story.  It appeared that the story was written by a person that had been given a heartfelt gift of love.  The gift may have been seemingly small and inconsequential but had left a very deep feeling of appreciation and love.  The story’s author had a memory that would forever remain in the collected hearts of the gathered.

            As meaningful as this may seem it was only part of the story.  The story was not written by the 30 year old young lady that was reading it on this somber day of reflection and remembrance.  It was not a story about the man in the casket that lies before the altar.  It was a story written by that man.  He was had written his thoughts and feelings for his family to share at some time in the future and that future had arrived.  The young pianist at the recital was this young lady and she was reading how important this simple gift had been to her grandfather and how important this fact was to her at this moment in time.  Her grandfather would live on forever not just as memories of what he had meant to her, but more importantly by knowing how his memories of her had been so important to him.  He had taken the time and effort to record his memories so that at this day he would indeed live on forever by letting his loved family know how important they had been to him.  His “blog” from this day on would be his eternal path to life everlasting, at least in the memories of his family.

            I am not trying to equate my mental meanderings to life everlasting, but if we all would take a few moments to log our thoughts and experiences we might be surprised how important our memories are to the people that shared those memories with us.  There can be little pleasure more treasured than being remembered for the way we remember others.  Life is a circle of intertwined moments of love and sharing.

            Quit being lazy and share your thoughts more regularly.  It will mean more than you will ever appreciate.

                                                                                    Yours surreally,

                                                                                    Rob

Date:                           June 3, 2007

Location:                    Watsonville, CA                   

0930:

            We roam this beautiful country, meet new people, and enjoy the adventures of their lives and always are home.  This is a beautiful life.  Connie and I have fallen into a life style that fits our desires and needs quite well.  We are living the adventure that most people could only dream about and yet it is our reality.  I am not naïve enough to think that this life style is perfect, nor would I want you to think that either.  There are the three thousand dollar repair bills that slow you down and trap you in small desert towns.  There are, also, the realities that your family is not with you and, at times, a full continent’s width away.  These and many other realities can be bumps on the road to our adventures, but it is still quite a life style and one that, if I was not living it, I would be very envious of the person that could.

            You may be wondering where I am gong with this meandering.  My lovely wife was just inquiring what I might be postulating about at this early moment on our day of rest. I am not sure I have an answer to either question.  I just need to talk to this blank page on my computer screen.  There is, however, a humble opinion that formulated over the last few years that I might like to share.  I realize that humility and my opinions should never be mentioned in the same paragraph, but so be it.

            In our travels and experiences my wife and I have found that we enjoy giving of ourselves and our talents to whatever project in which we become involved.  It may be a volunteer project in the southeast or a work project in the northeast.  It may even be a chance to live in, or at least near, paradise.  It does not seem to matter where or what, but we tend to offer as much of ourselves as we possibly can at that moment.  We have also found that this not a greatly accepted trait and I am a bit perplexed.  We have been called intimidating, whatever that means.  We have been called over zealous, as if that were a negative.  And, we have told to slow down.  Somehow all of those phrases go very much against my grain.

            When I was in the real world of working and providing a living for my family I thought it imperative that I give as much as I could to my job to accomplish the stated objectives of the organization.  I so firmly believed that that I found it somewhat reprehensible when others did not do the same.  Skating through life doing only the minimum necessary to not be noticed as a slacker was not an acceptable trait in my humble estimation.  As this social and work ethic became more and more evident I became more and more disillusioned with the burgeoning work force.  Where had personal pride gone?  Where had the personal reward of knowing a job had been well done gone?  Was I just a dinosaur from the lost land of personal work ethics?

            I do not have answers to any of these questions.  I am not sure if there are answers that make any reasonable sense.  I do know that the ethic of working hard for the personal satisfaction of a job well done is lacking in most of America today and I am not sure where it went.  I am not sure if it is a trait of the “Me Generation” or just fallout from the lack of leadership and proper example being offered to our younger generation for the past few decades.  When rich spoiled, brats can, and do on a daily basis, violate all principles of proper life ethics and still get idolized on nightly television it is difficult to espouse a different level of self worth.  When people that only want to work hard for whatever wage is available in order to provide for their families are the enemies and the lazy welfare white mothers of illegitimate hoards of off springs are the heroes, we have a major perception problem.  Again, I do not think I have any of the answers.

            I guess that I just have a lot of questions and I wanted to let any of you who think that our life style is perfect to know that we can still see the real world. We can, and do, see the reality that exists along with, and sometimes in, our world of fantasy.  We see it and find it just as difficult to explain as anyone.  It exists on the east coast, the west coast and in as many places in between as we have had the pleasure to visit.  We may live a great life, but it is in the real world.  I say that and now I must go get ready to leave for a three day adventure in San Francisco just to play.  Maybe we are living on the fantasy side of a real life.