Neighborliness

Hi. I'm back. No explanations. Go figure.

We were treated to two snowstorms last week in the space of just over three days. The first was a fast mover which left a foot high calling card. The second was nastier and left two calling cards - about eight inches of snow, soon to be capped by ice. Lots of fun and a great opportunity to share some chili and watch the Patriots win #14. Not bad for a weekend.

So with #1 I'm getting ready to go out and start shoveling. I see my neighbor is having his driveway plowed and wondered if the plow would hit the corner of his stone wall or my mailbox - again.

I shovel about a 10' square up top and then go down to the road to say hello to the hard packed snow and salt, compliments of the town plows. If I don't get to it fairly quickly successive runs by the plows can build up rapidly and then it all compresses and morphs into the dreaded white cement.

My neighbors are out shoveling their remnants.

I call across: "Are we having fun yet?"

Peter calls back: "Oh yeah, how about you?"

I chant back: "Definitely, and it looks like I'm going to have a lot more fun than you."

We both giggle mirthfully, and I start working towards breakthrough - that's how I like to do it. I identify the highest reach of the plow spew, start digging in a straight line towards the road and then declare breakthrough! when I get to the road. Then I start going in random patterns east and west. That's the system. But the pace is definitely guided by not rushing. It'll get done when it gets done and it's always a grand opportuity to listen to the snow falling, saying hello to my body and the satisfaction of doing something concrete.

Peter mosies over and asks: "Want some help?"

I take my time in responding and say: "I pretty much have it covered, but as long as you're here we could work on this part together and talk in between."

We continue at a leisurely pace sprinkling many breaks in between. Actually the shoveling is brief and the breaks are fairly long.

"Here's how I figure it." I say. The whole system started to break down when there was a rush to get things done - fast." "And now that I know that I take my own sweet time, but keep working at it, bit by bit. Sweat's good, difficult is good, discomfort is good, but having to get it all done chop chop quick quick like yesterday is not only not good, it's bad (except for certain circumscribed events.)"

Peter agrees. Now I know I'm on a roll.

(Magically insert another conversation with another friend, Jeff.)

Over breakfast, my treat this time, I ask: "When do you think it all changed, all this speeding up stuff?"

He says: "Easy; it changed the day fax machines became available for the home-office. Then you never got away from it and it also created an expectation of urgency where you had to deal with it right away and get back to the sender."

"I generally agree. I first saw it when I saw the marketing material for the Digital Rainbow. It showed a guy dressed casually and sitting on his back deck overlooking the ocean and the dunes on the Cape. He had his feet up and had the keyboard on his lap and the monitor on a table a few feet off to the side. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I didn't realize how much of a big mouth bass I was until after I bought it and found out that it did nothing to bring me closer to leisure and refreshment."

"Then later I looked at that original marketing material and finally saw the big computer box discretely tucked away behind a planter and all the cables also blended into the background so to be nearly invisible."

I asked Jeff: "So what did you do with your fax machine?""

I loved his answer: "I just tell people that when they send material to him, he will deal with it and get back to them but not to expect anything close to immediacy."

I ask: "How does that work for you?"

"Nicely," he says, "they know that I will deal with it and that's all they really need."

I say: "Good for you! You've managed to create a work structure that works for you, you have trained them and those who can't handle that can move on, and you have reclaimed your life. Neat!"

(Now back to the snow pile.)

Peter and I continued to shovel and talk. We talked about how in the old days and in "the country" people helped one another out. When you needed some assistance they would be there for you, no questions asked. The unspoken contract was that it would be reciprocated, but each person was expected to carry their own weight and make honest effort to work it out by yourself (and with your family) first. That built the bond of trust and made for good neighbors. That built bonds. That built community. And that's what we need now more than ever before.

The next day I brought him some of my not so famous chili (the short version is that I love it but my wife said that we have to get rid of it and that it's in my best interest if I never try making it again...little does she know) and a copy of Duane Elgin's Radical Simplicity for future snowstorms.

Ann Arbor Kaleidoscope

My wife and I are visiting our daughter and her boyfriend in Michigan.

In no particular order:

** Me: (To the front desk clerk) "Why is it called Ann Arbor?"

Other: "The first name of one of the founders of the city was Ann. The middle name of the wife of the other founder was also Ann. And because of all the trees."

I wasn't particularly interested in the names of the founders so it didn't go any further. Mission accomplished. But shouldn't it have been called: Anns' Arbor?

I'll have to find out more about "all the trees" because it doesn't seem that there are all that many trees here. Maybe if you were coming from Oklahoma it would seem that way. Maybe I should find out where the founders came from originally.

** Passing an older gentleman at the Briarwood Mall; he's in the slow lane and me in the passing lane, during my morning walk. On the back of his gray t-shirt there is an orange triangle, like one used on road construction sites, with the words "Caution, slow moving vehicle" under the triangle.

Me: "(laughing)...slow moving vehicle."

Guy: "Hey, I'm still moving."

Me: "Chew got dat right, mon"

** Passing two women in comfortable chairs in the mall. I didn't look closely but one was the designated listener and the other was speaking with ... something...I'm not quite sure how to describe it, but I thought that she may have been post-stroke from years ago.

Speaker: "If you were the normalist person in the whole world, would you..."

She stopped there and waited for me to pass. It was like she was saying this is a private conversation. I wonder if she knew I was "listening in" even though I was eyes forward and moving fast? What was the vibe she picked up on or was it just coming from a sense of "hey, even though I'm talking loudly, this is private."

** The busses here (the system is collectively referred to as 'The Ride') have a gizmo on the frontend of each bus where people can place their bicycles. Great idea!

** On line at Starbucks at the mall. I pick up a New York Times. Waiting in line. I hold the paper up in front of the man along side me.

Man: "Did you want me to see something in particular?"

Me: "No, (playfully) there's nothing really of much value there anyway."

Man: "It's a bit much to the Left for me. But it balances out the cricks."

Me: "Yes. We need that balancing. This past election was an important one in doing that."

Man: "In what way do you mean that?"

Me: "The overwhelming majority of the American public spoke with their votes to balance away from the consolidation of brute force power practised by the Bush administration. The country, in my opinion, was headed towards 1984 in our world of comfort trappings. I don't hold out any positive expectations for the Democrats to do any better...but the trend was stopped dead in its tracks."

Man: "Yes, gridlock is the best outcome."

Me: "I don't know if that's the best outcome but it's better than where it was headed."

** The main reading room - I will call it 'the Great Reading Room' in the Horace Racham building at the University of Michigan is nothing short of spectacular. Walls were, I roughly estimate, about 60 feet high, 80 or 90 feet wide and about 150 feet long. Wood paneling. Windows along one wall were 35 feet high and about 13 feet wide, long deep red drapes with tie ropes pulling them to the side half way down. Heavy wooden chairs and long wooden tables aligned down the center line of the room, and they were punctuated by easy chairs up against the walls. You could hear a pin drop; maybe you couldn't since it was almost so cavernous that the slight sound would be lost in the size of it all. Many other pleasing rooms in the building. By the way, Racham was the attorney who wrote the articles of incorporation for a guy with a hair-brained idea to replace horses with something called a horseless carriage. But Mr. Racham saw something in the idea and went to a bank and borrowed (?) $5,000 to put into the business as a shareholder. Oh, the guy was Henry Ford. The rest is history.

At the other end of the campus is a somewhat similar building, housing the Law Library. The reading room there is similar but nowhere as elegant. The exterior is, however, a spectacular example of Gothic architecture and the only thing missing was chairs outside the library so you could sit and slowly inhale the beauty of it.

** At some point you have to visit Zingermann's Jewish Deli and Bakery. Maybe twice. It would be worth more visits but you'd go broke.

** Best meal so far was Rush Street restaurant. Go there Monday through Friday between 4 and 6 and all the meals and drinks are 1/2 price. Excellent food. I had plain old spaghetti and tomato sauce with lots of herbs and shrimp. It just got better and better.

** If you're into movies, check out the Michigan theater. It is an old movie theater which has had a ton of restoration work done. On the outside you would walk by it without giving it a second thought. Inside is a totally different story.

We saw a German movie: "The Lives of Others." It was a riveting political thriller about life in East Germany in 1984 under the Stasi (State Secret Police) and tight / taught human drama of how the spirit can survive even under those conditions and how risky it was for anyone who wanted to keep their spirit alive under terribly oppressive conditions. Not a pleasant movie but you know afterwards that you were outside the bubble of "isn't everything just so wonderful."

"How do you think it's all going to play out?"

I went for a late lunch at Harry's Pastrami Shack on Route 9 in Westborough. I like going around 2:30 in the afternoon because my favorite booth is open and I don't have to feel like a hog sitting there all by myself because there are plenty of other places available.

Walking in, I notice a man who reminded me of Mr. Clean from the old commercial sitting at the table next to "my booth."

My "Mr. Clean!" got a smile in response.

My plan was to have some lunch and read a few pages of Dmitry Orlov's essay: Post-Soviet Lessons for a Post-American Century. I was in the part where he says that "an equally useful quality in a crisis is apathy," when my mind was being drawn to the conversation between Mr. Clean and a couple at the counter.

Counter Guy: "People complain about having to reset their clocks when there's a power outage. (On the TV they were talking about the storm in Denver) But it's much more serious when it's much more serious."

Mr. C: "Big changes in the weather."

Counter Guy: "the spring was worse with all that rain. I work for a pool company and we couldn't put in the pools. We were down $100,000 in receipts by July and there's no way you can regroup after that."

Later, and after Counter Guy leaves, I say, like out of the blue: "how do you think this will all play out?"

He looks at me and I say: "with the weather, the changes."

Mr. C: "Ya don't know. We haven't been there before."

I start talking about my previous posting about climate change and talk about Jim at Big Bear, California (he knew it instantly - I could see him 20 years ago growling up the mountain on a good old fashioned hog) and Laura in Sasketchewan. He listens attentively.

He tells me about how there was "flowering going on, on the north side of PJ Rhodadendruns; 6 months early."

He then goes on talking about the melting arctic ice shelf and how that's all fresh water and how it will upset the current (that circulates from the North Atlantic to the Gulf of Mexico and then up the Eastern seaboard of the States.)

You really have to wonder how this is all going to play out.

For my part I liked how I got into the conversation with the elevator pitch of "how do you think this is all going to play out."

His comment of "ya don't know, we haven't been there before" is incisively spot-on

The other thing I took away from this conversation was how easy it actually turned out to be to "get at" what was going on beneath the surface with the right question.

He offered his hand, we shook and I left.

Struggling vs. developing my voice in these blog entries

When I look at my last post I know what I am saying but it also seems too complicated. When I'm talking with someone directly I am more to the point. I'm ok dealing with complex issues, in fact, I really enjoy them but only if I can find a simple design contained within the complexity. But when complexity becomes complicated, well, yuck!

Writing for my blog is a new process for me. It's like I'm still finding my "voice" and my primary drum beats. It's ok that I don't have it all together already in the sense that this is just the way it is. Trying to get it right - right away - misses the reality that this process develops over time. Grappling with something is fine and actually fun for me. Struggling, a habit I know too well, is self defeating. Struggling ultimately reinforces the trying, not the learning. Struggling puts more energy into the struggle and it is all an energy game.

The strategy which makes sense to me is to catch myself as soon as I can in the struggle, and then acknowledge the struggle, watch it for a few moments, then "release it." " How to release," you ask? By letting go, by bringing your attention to your next exhale. Do that for a few moments / minutes / decades and then place your energy on something which draws your attention and which is appealing. That way I / you are not putting more energy into a process which has already stopped being a lively experience. It takes practise but it is a way out of the struggle.

In that way then, the struggle becomes a cue to watch and experience differently. It becomes an opportunity to lighten up and then the struggle is accepted for what it is, a short circuit which blocks further and easy development. A struggle is then just part of the process, like a punctuation point which gives a hint that there is rushing going on, a trying to make it go faster. Better to ease off the throttle and shift gears before getting back on track. Better yet to refresh the compass direction before setting out again.

I feel better now.

And the gift from this is an awareness that the original intent is still there:

• To talk about shifting consciousness from rushing and hurrying to a pace dictated only by the reality of the current situation and not impaled on the demands of the external system, which for sure seldom has my / your best interest at the forefront of their agenda.
• To hear from others about how they came to a shifting point and how they followed through with it.
• To recognize and share information about the perilous times we are in from the point of view of impending changes which will occur to our society as climate change continues and the peak oil process progressively plays out the reality of how utterly dependent we have become on that substance.
• To recognize how we have been ultra conditioned to over-consume and to hand our lives over to specialists and how we give away our life-time to make money to pay for all that.
• To reconnect and rediscover basic skills necessary for self and group sustainability.
• To explore how people form new circles of common interest around the sustainable process.
• To integrate complex issues and to say it in plain english.
• To cultivate our inner sense.
• To clarify our values.
• To live the good life and to be in harmony with our surroundings

I suspect that should keep me busy for a while.

Walden Pond - Walkabout

It's been thirty years since I last visited Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts. About all I remember of that visit was that there was a small hut and a pond, and that it had something to do with a writer called Thoreau. Looking back it is like I was going through the motions of "seeing something" mostly for the purpose of checking it off on the list. I thought then that I was seeing everything with such clarity. Now I am amazed at how naive I was, and how the invisible blinders blocked the deep sense of appreciation which the location warranted.

Since the day was in my mind an officially designated "Walkabout Day," I walked from the train station to Walden Pond, altogether about 2 miles. It was a near perfect Fall day which made it easy to be in no rush.

First stop was in the Shop at Walden Pond. The T-shirts caught my attention the most. Loved seeing Thoreau's sayings printed on different colors: "Simplify, Simplify;" "If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them;" "Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes." I took one other to heart for the moment: "Do not trouble yourself much to get new things," and managed to get out of the shop with all my money still in my pocket.

The replica of Thoreau's single-room hut was a short distance away. Outside was a bronze sculpture of the man - it looked to me as if his clothes were made of tree bark. Perhaps the artist was trying to convey the strength of the natural man. I loved the simplicity of the hut, 12 feet by 15 feet with a window on each side, one door in the front, and a stone fireplace for the back wall, with a wood box to the right of the fireplace. There was a single cot, a desk and chair, and a round table with another chair. The wood burning stove had pots for cooking on the top. I could see a reflective person walk into the house and easily live there - Thoreau did for 2 years. Some books, perhaps a radio, definitely no television. It is a dwelling to come back to and to live around. Perfect for "the woods."

The pond, longer than wide and with several small coves, is beautiful. The water is very clear. An easy 1.7 mile walk circumnavigates the entire pond. It took me 2 hours to finish the walk, what with carrying on conversations along the way and meditating at Ice Fort Cove.

Perhaps the most enjoyable conversation was with a pilgrim from Virginia who had driven up that morning, starting his pilgrimage at 2 in the morning. We spoke of cultural differences, the pace of life in America, the epidemics of diabetes, hypertension and consumerism. I asked if he wanted to walk along with me but he gently deferred preferring to walk alone. Of course: it was his pilgrimage; mine also, but I also learn through these conversations.

The surprise came when I saw a sign pointing to the original Thoreau House Site. It was a quiet "shrine" surrounded on three sides with low hills. Out the front door and slightly to the right was a view of the pond. I didn't have a compass with me but I was curious if the door fronted due east.

There was a plaque there which said it all: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." Walden

Perilous Times and Choices

About a year ago I started a conversation with a new friend, Ted. We meet once a week and have coffee and talk about life, the world, values, choices, propaganda, and the good life. It sounds like heady stuff but the ongoing conversation is thrilling and we both look forward to it each week.

He and his wife are committed to growing some of their own food organically and living a simple life which moves in the direction of being self-sustaining. Neither of us are much into consumerism these days. Our conversations revolve around those topics and whatever else is on our minds. The conversations are intriguing and interesting to the both of us. Ted sometimes comments that his head is buzzing for hours after I leave, although, at times, I wonder if it's also because of the very strong mud / coffee he prepares for us. For me, it's like these conversations have become compost for my own movement towards a less hurried and more centered, value expressive life style.

Early on he introduced me to the idea of peak oil and we discussed its implications for the individual, the cities, suburbanites, and the world. James Kunstler's book, The Long Emergency: Surviving the Converging Catastrophes of the Twenty-First Century, became the focal point for our conversations for several weeks.

Kunstler's message is simple: peak oil (the point at which half of all the oil reserves in the ground will be gone) is a fact. It's not exactly clear when it will happen but if it hasn't already, it will in the relatively near future, and when that happens, gradually at first, but with building momentum it will have nothing short of profound implications for our society. That is because we are inextricably wed to abundant and inexpensive oil. Our whole economy over the years was premised on oil being an inexpensive commodity. There was so much of it that we hardly ever gave it a second thought and with that it became more and more ingrained in our whole lifestyle. It was a positive development but we have inadvertently become more dependent on it in ways which we hardly notice. Some have speculated that if the typical office building suddenly hit a magical delete button which removed all the products which are based on petroleum or petroleum products that the building would suddenly become Lilliputian in size. Whatever the consequences for us, they will be even more significant for our children and their children. For myself I have adopted a belief that it will be a whole new ballgame in the not too distant future.

Some will say that this is too alarmist. I would say that it's risky business to keep certain blinders on. That's a good way to get mugged by reality. There is no doubt that we in the United States live in the lap of luxury. The basic needs generally are there - food, shelter and clothing. But let's take a peep behind the veil of abundance. The food on your table: you probably think that it comes from the supermarket a mile or so from your home. I dare say the younger children would say that is where food comes from. Obviously it doesn't. It was transported from other parts of this country and/or from other parts of the world. I've heard that the average piece of food on the shelves in the supermarkets travel, on average, 1500 miles to get there, and then we transport them the final few.

Or take a look at the labels on your clothes. Similar story there, too. My guess is that if I looked at the labels on all of my clothes, I would find that there is not one item that comes from within an hours drive of my home. That covers two parts of the basic trilogy; food, clothing and shelter.

I am not saying that all of this will change in a twinkling, or a moment. But if the premise is correct, and I think it, at the very least, deserves attentive consideration, that the present material abundance is premised and made possible because of accessible and inexpensive oil and petroleum products, then the implications of a reversal over time of that commodity will be, well, profound.

Back to the second part of the title of this little piece: ...and choices. Somehow or other, as individuals we have to become more self sufficient in many different ways. Kunstler's suggestion is to consider forming self sustaining communities. No one person has to do it all themselves and that simply wouldn't work for the overwhelming majority. But the self sustaining community part makes superb sense to me.

In a forum discussion on the pathtofreedom.com website there was a question as to how much land (acreage) was needed for an individual or family to be self sustaining. One person told a story of how when she was a child her family had a large garden and farmyard and they grew much or most of their own food. In that sense, they had some of their own basic needs met, but it gets better. When a neighbor passed by, e.g., coming back from fishing, he would be invited into the garden and encouraged to bring home part of his supper to share with his family. But it gets even better, because after that person left they would find a freshly caught fish for their supper. That's an example of how self sustaining is not just about one family, but of several families, or a community all contributing in non-intrusive ways according to their talents and skills. Sounds good to me. But it also reminds me of how far we have moved from that sense of basic independence and community.

Boston Walkabout #1

Shifting into an "I will rush no more" mindset calls for some action - to put some "feet under it." What better way than to periodically have a walkabout day. A destination, the briefest of agendas, an openness to melting into the experience and the time to let it all just happen. Sounds just about right.

The destination was Boston. The agenda was to take a day off from work, play hookey in a sense, and walk around the city.

I missed the early commuter train, ok, I felt like sleeping in an extra half-hour, but, hey, what's the big rush. Did my morning meditation and was surprised to feel some anxiety. Some of it was just plain excitement, something new, and some of it was apprehension. Like, how will it work out, will it meet my expectations, what are my expectations, will I lightly freak out without the structure? It was really just a little anxiety, but I think those were the components.

I drove to Riverside Station in Newton and found the last parking spot in the lot. From there I rode the MBTA into Boston. First real problem of the day was when I realized I wanted to tell people that I was on a "walkabout," I actually wanted to braodcast it, but at the same time there was this big social hesitancy. It helped the there weren't too many people on the train.

So instead I asked a question of a man across from me: How do I get to the Back Bay station? (It's not that complicated if you have a basic idea of the Boston train system but don't forget there was that song years ago about how a guy named Charlie got lost on the train and never came back - the refrain was: "no, he never returned, no he never returned and his fate is still unlearned." I can well imagine the same thing might happen if your name was Igor or Pierre and your English was as weak as my Russian or French.) He told me to get off at Copley and walk a bit. He then offered an alternate of transferring from the Red Line to the Orange Line and then rambled about how the Orange Line could "be dangerous" at times. I had the impression that he really wanted to say more but didn't quite know how to get into it. I had the same feeling and also felt that he was on one line and I on another.

I took the opportunity to make a tactical retreat to my seat.

At the next stop there was a rush of people and a woman took the aisle seat next to me. Same situation, I wanted to tell her about the walkabout day but felt she would have "freaked out." So I just looked out the window pondering how to get into a conversation. Oh, it dawned on me again, ask a question. We were passing by a beautiful park-like area so I turned to her and asked what that was.

Oops, her eyes are closed and she’s resting and I apologized but she said that it was ok. She said it was the greenway and that it was designed by a man called Olmsted, the same man, she thought, who designed Central Park in New York. A man behind us jumped in and said something about how it was the hospital area and I said it was good that "they" had the forethought to put aside park area in the city.

I had a sense that people were curiously listening to us but maintaining their own personal spaces of isolation.

I couldn't quite get it out that I was "doing a walkabout" but I managed to say that I took the day off and that I wanted to explore Boston. That seemed to work and I figured that people could relate to that and it wouldn't seem too odd and might increase the chances of conversation. One thing led easily to another and before long we were both gabbing; me about how I made a decision - how I will rush no more - and she talking wistfully about how fast it all goes and how her son owns a jewelry shop on Newbury Street and that she helps him out three afternoons a week. It flowed easily after that.

At her stop she offered me her hand. That hello and goodbye moved both of us.

I got off at the next stop. As I was leaving the original man made a point of wishing me well. I sensed the same pent-upness with him but enjoyed that he had extended himself. Two conversations, both real, one easy one less so, two moments.