Amazing Journey: Please, Avoid the Kid’s Menu

I know folks who will take their children to a fine dining establishment and then turn to the page of pedestrian choices like Chicken Fingers when it comes to choosing what their kids eat.  Why?

How does one go about expanding the horizons of young beings when in action you undertake such confining behavior?

We have gone out of our way to establish a simple approach.  “Take one Tyrannosaurus-sized bite of the items we order.  Then really taste it, feel the texture, smell the aroma, look at the dish.  Feel the hard, soft, hot and cold parts with your fingers. Rip it to shreds in every way you want.  After that, if you still feel it is not something you like, bravo, let’s order something else.”

The result has been certainly encouraging.  Both the 7 and 8 year old have little hesitation trying things.  When the opening question is “What’s a Gyro?”  as opposed to “I don’t like Gyro’s” you know you have a fighting chance.

The world is such a big place.  Every facet has to be approached like it may be the last time you traverse it.  Injecting that mindset into the food we eat certainly seems like like a way to set the stage for larger explorations, no?

Taiwanese Pork Burger, rather than chicken nuggets

Earning Your Success Thru Smart Homework

Paul and Sidd had the good fortune of joining the venerable Scouting tradition known as the “Pinewood Derby” back in March:  transform a block of wood into a car body; decorate as you wish; nail on 4 wheels; race it down a glorified Hot Wheels track.

Before embarking with them on this little adventure, I came across “Physics and the Pinewood Derby” – a DVD of lessons by a physics professor who is a Souts dad.  It was a great $15 investment.  The boys walked away understanding some nuanced concepts in the context of speed such as: center of gravity, and design; rotational inertia, and using 3 vs. 4 wheels; how to check for good alignment and great tires.

This clearly narrowed our effort and over the course of a couple of weeks we created these svelte, 4.96 ounce (the limit is 5 oz) little dynamos.  Along with the build itself, the boys embraced the professor’s test mentality and made choices: notably Paul chose to have 1 front wheel slightly lifted off the track (lower rotational inertia), but Sidd felt this may make the car drift to one side and chose all 4 will be touching.

One small surprise was that neither cared to dress up the car with flames, numbers, etc.  “I just want a fast car, dad” is how Paul summed it up.  Sidd concurred.

The upshot:  out of about 40 cars, Paul’s racer, “Speedy Gonzales” came in 1st in all 8 heats, and 1st overall; Sidd’s “Typhoon” came in 1st in 5 heats, 2nd in 2 heats and 3rd in one very fast one, and 2nd overall.  A 1st and 3rd grader had beat out racers as old as the 6th grade.

When they announced the results, Paul was in particular surprised.  As the more introverted one, it was an unexpected feeling to be in the cheering and limelight among peers, and come to the front front to get his award.

I for one liked their observations and lessons: Both boys commented they were happy to see their brother win.  Both made predictions before the racing began about the various designs, looking thru the professor’s physics lens.  They also learned that how a heat “looks” matters less than the actual numbers in terms of race times.  And to a limited degree, they saw that when time permits it can be mighty useful to learn from the best before you start.

Turning up the heat at the district races… 

The boys went on to the district races in May and were very pumped up.  Now, throughout the build they had commented on winning and I shared that the the prep is what they control, but ultimately it does come down to luck, and the other cars. Most important is that walked away knowing they did as much as they could to make the fastest cars possible.  I also highlighted that the districts would see the best of the best compete and this would be far tougher.

Well, the district races were eye opening, and frankly, humbling.  Other cars won at the end of the day.  Sidd, who has a burning desire to “win”, was in particular was taken aback as he watched the race times and saw that Typhoon was not the top contender.  I wish I had photographed the shocked look on his face as Typhoon came in 2nd and 3rd in the heats.  Going to the districts was not as wildly fun as they had expected.  And being humbled is not the same as the candy of winning.  But I think they walked away understanding there are bigger arenas, and all the diligent prep is for contenders who may be elsewhere. 

 

Speedy Gonzales in the Garage; Typhoon(#30), Copyright 2011, Abe Pachikara  (Click for larger images)

 

Speedy Places 1st; Typhoon Places 1st, Copyright 2011, Abe Pachikara

 

Speedy Stays Out in Front; Typhoon in Action, Copyright 2011, Abe Pachikara

The Race Crew, Copyright 2011, Abe Pachikara

The Pack at the End of a Big Night, Copyright 2011, Abe Pachikara

Firing Things Up at the District, Copyright 2011, Abe Pachikara

“Infinity is the God of Numbers”

So my 7 year old Sidd and 8 year old Paul have been in hot pursuit of superlatives for several months.  One that has left Paul particularly spellbound was my answer to “what’s the biggest number?” - - The notion of infinity has resulted in numerous follow-up questions.

Finally he came up to me and said, “you know dad, I‘ve been thinking and since God is everything, and infinity is the biggest number, infinity is the God of numbers and zero is the devil.”

When asked where zero fit in, he indicated, “see infinity is trying to make you the biggest number, and zero is trying to make you into nothing.  So zero is the opposite of infinity so it’s the devil of numbers.”

I then explained negative numbers and asked where they fit in.  He came back in an hour, “Okay so BOTH positive AND negative infinity are the Gods of numbers, and zero is still the devil.”

I do hope he keeps this abstract way of looking at things, and that I can help remove whatever may obstruct such thinking.

Unwavering Focus

Some pursuits naturally draw us into focus, and are a natural source of exhiliration.  Consider Sidd and soccer.  It is a daily ritual at school during lunch, rain or shine.  And when he runs onto the field for a game, he literally prances around like a bucking bronco. 

Below is a shot sequence from the last game of his 2010 season.  The other team was an all-Latino set of 1st graders who were already well schooled on both the basics and more advanced nuances like double teaming and a liberal amount of pushing and shoving.  An early view into what is to come in later years.

The images show the way opportunity is identified, and in this case, relentlessly pursued in the face of opposition.  His eyes are locked on the goal even as the defense takes him down in the final frame.  The book "Bringing up Geeks" calls out the importance of focusing kids on everything BUT winning and losing: all those other elements are what one truly will gain from playing sports (like the camaraderie, the collective encouragement, the need for a LOT of preparation, the luck that is sprinkled in all endeavors, and the discipline and tenacity one builds).

Fast Break… Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2010 (click for larger image)

The Defense Closes In… Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2010 (click for larger image)

Squeeze Play… Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2010 (click for larger image)

Keeping Focus… Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2010 (click for larger image)

Watching the Ball As You Go Dooowwwnnnn… Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2010 (click for larger image)

The Unbounded World of George DeVoynes

My views of life were shattered in so many good ways in the summers of 1981 and 1983.  This image highlights just one – see the seated and smiling mug of the man standing next to camp counselors Sara Queener and Maria Baker.  George was the 1st of many campers to debunk many assumptions I discovered I had in life.

George and his Wheels - - Abe Pachikara, Copyright 1981 (click for larger image)

As context, the photo is taken at Touch of Nature (TON), a summer camp for physically and mentally challenged near Carbondale, IL.  It was the 1st of the many 2-week sessions; these campers had cerebral palsy, and were 18 to perhaps 60 years old (the upper age was never clear to me).

Now George had some kind of up-front agreement that he never needed to participate in the evening activities like arts, beach, boating, etc.  Rather, after dinner he would wheel himself back to the cabin (a very slow action, to be clear, but George ONLY moved on his own, never wanting help if at all possible; it was a steady but glacial backwards motion, arm hooked over the back grip, looking over his right shoulder).  He would spastically slap cologne on himself, often erupting into a smile over how good he smelled; perhaps change his shirt with the help of his cabin’s counselors, and then wheel ALL the way back past the cafeteria to his Caddy.

Getting in his Cadillac was its own journey: opening the back door; rocking back and forth until he was precariously up on his stiff legs; opening the back door; shaking the wheelchair until it collapsed; somehow dragging it into the back seat; slowly moving across to open the front door; falling in, moving around, getting situated. 

Finally, with big, enticing grin on his face, he would muster the energy to say to anyone nearby, “I…… am…… going…… out.”  The Caddy would back out, and with a burst of energy from the hand controlled accelerator, slide into the evening.

I once asked Butch, “where the hell is he going?”  to which I got a trademark thundering laugh, “Ah where does George go?  It is one of those Touch mysteries, Abe!  Some seedy tavern, local strip clubs, wherever it is a single, virile man would go in the evening.  And George is a pretty determined guy.”

It was the same man, seen thru 2 lenses:  while I saw the cerebral palsy with its inhibiting packaging that surrounded George, what Butch (and other TON veterans) also “saw” was just another single, virile male.  Getting a beer, chasing some skirts sounded pretty pedestrian at that point.

In my incredibly finite brain, large chunks of the world were beyond the boundaries of people “like George” but that was not the case.  And it was a tremendously welcome correction, if you ask me.

Happy Holidays 2010 !

Greetings from Redmond, WA, and a heartfelt Happy Holidays from Sidd, Paul, Molly and myself. We pray this note finds you safe, sound, healthy and happy.

I am always in awe of and humbled by the hundreds of layers of blessings surrounding us. It is life’s version of Teflon coating. As example, waking up in one’s own apartment, condo or home is an obvious and wonderful one. No longer is this an assumed outcome in the US; just between July - September, 930,000 homeowners lost their homes – that is around 4 million whose lives are derailed in this Holiday Season. The fact I am say my prayers from inside a house is the 1^st blessing of each day.

The Four Year Rule

When I was in my mid 20s I noticed I was suddenly interacting much more with my sister Cindy who is 6 years younger, but it was unclear as to why.  Did she suddenly become smarter or was there more to it?  After a lot of thought, I arrived at the “4 year rule” – that every 4 years our personas go thru a metamorphosis. As example, 3 and 7 year olds have nothing in common, nor 7 vs. 11, 11 vs. 15, even 15 vs. 19. The pace of personal development is so earth-shattering frankly. But then we get to our 20s and the pace eases up, a lot. Hence why I only discovered my sisters so late. 

The implication is that an age gap of greater than 4 years means you will not materially “share the ride” with your older or younger sibling.  Each child has what is essentially an “only child” and “oldest child” experience, working from zero insitutionalized knowledge regarding what to expect.

Now when I see young parents with say, a 2 year old, I wonder if they have in mind to have another baby, and if so, when.  Wait too long, and the younger one will only have an older sibling they know of, rather then know innately.

Diamonds in the Rough

It was bed time but Paul had one of those reflective questions, “Dad, why do we do so many things?”

I figured I knew what Paul was referring to, but played dumb. Like what?

“Well, we have to read, and play piano, and kick the soccer ball and other things. I don’t think we get enough time to relax, and you know, goof around like boys do” Once again his 8 year old introspective side had kicked in. Sidd concurred with ruffled eyebrows.

I left them, got Molly’s wedding ring, ran outside, got a rock, and came back. They love superlatives currently so I asked, Do you know what is the hardest rock in the world? It’s the diamond, like in mommy’s ring. See how shiny it is?

What followed was a fierce, concentrated inspection; one that only a youngster can do.

Did you know that a diamond starts out as dull as this rock? But if you rub it and polish it over and over, boy, after doing this for a long time, it starts to shine. Then we give it edges so it captures the light and throws it back at you with all those sparkles.

Sometimes people call an unpolished diamond a “diamond in the rough”. That is what you 2 are – our diamonds in the rough. And all that math, and music, and soccer and other things are polishing you into these amazing boys. We need to make it fun along the way and if it isn’t you tell me.

Paul looked off into he distance as he digested this analogy. “I think I get it now, Dad,” He clambered into bed; it was a start at outlining why he was in the various things he is. But there would be more to discuss, undoubtedly.

Hand of God – Guiding My Detroit Rolling Iron

I can look back and see explicit examples where nothing other than the hand of God ensured my well being.  Here’s one.

I had just finished grad school and had capped off my college days with a late night at the Chicago Blues Festival with my good friend Gunter Frank, who was a med student on a visiting rotation from Heidelberg.  I absolutely needed to drive the 350 miles down to Southern Illinois in the morning, as the next day I had a flight out of St. Louis to Hong Kong and then India for 3 months of vacation.  So on less than 5 hours of sleep, I happily loaded my capacious 1978 Olds 98 with my most precious grad student belongings and sundries, (photos, camera, stereo, albums, clothes) and an antique full-sized bed frame and headboard (that literally fit in the back seat, such was the volume of this ship I drove).  I then pointed pointed my Detroit rolling iron homeward down Interstate 57.  In front of me, both good and bad, was flat, boring, straight lengths of highway.

100 miles into the trip, I could feel the waves of sleep suddenly coming on.  My friends used to call me “narc” as we all thought I had some manner of narcolepsy, so quickly could I fall asleep.  (In truth, it was probably a simple case of sleep deprivation.)  The next exit was about 10 miles away where a coffee would “fix” this issue with a vengeance.  Time for some defensive maneuvers: dial up the radio; light up the rare cigarette; partially roll down the windows on the right so that a cool wind hits the back of my head.  I continued to barrel along at 75 miles an hour, familiar with the conflict underway.

But I lost this one.

As I approached the intersection in mind, I slipped off to sleep.  The car, being essentially a living room on wheels, ever so slowly drifted to the right and into what should have been the shoulder of the highway.  But that very exit I was looking for was upon me.  So the car was lined up with the now widening road.  I awoke just as the exit rose upward, and curved dramatically rightward.  Now things got surreal.  The car shot off the road, down a long embankment, and like a curling rock, slowly rotated right ward in the soft muddy dirt below  The tall wild grass was madly slapping the window to my left as the 98 slid sideways.  I was creating a 25 foot wide swath in the foliage.  Inside the car, I witnessed a slow swirl of clothes, record albums, photos, books.  My material life was being stirred like a martini.

As quickly as this all started it was over.  Silence in the car. A quiet rustling of the wild grass.  The hiss of cars zipping by on the highway.  I had narrowly and completed averted a catastrophe.  To my left was the overpass for this exit – with unforgiving concrete walls and pillars that had been avoided.  In front of me, literally 200 feet away, a diner with a large “Fresh Coffee” sign.  I sheepishly walked trudged thru the soft mud from a recent rain and into the diner.

“Uh, can you get me a tow truck?”  Your car break down or run out of gas?  “Well no, i just drove it into that field by your exit ramp,” I said, feeling phenomenally idiotic.  A friend of the guy behind the counter leaned forward, You fall asleep?  The guy behind the counter jumped in, Don’t ask that! Why are you pokin’ around for?  With a big grin, the buddy said, Shit I did that last year, just wanted to know.

The rest of the journey was uneventful.  I caught my flight from St. Louis to Asia the next day.  But only due to the divine providence that helped keep me in this current life.  Hard to believe my good fortunes.

Polishing Diamonds: Never Order From the Kid’s Menu

How often have you seen the following:  You are at a capable restaurant, with a menu renowned far and wide.  But you notice the younger ones at the party next to you are eating chicken nuggets.  From the kitchen freezer! Prepared in a microwave!  Not the salmon cooked to a delectable nuance.  Nor beef from some remote grassy pasture, or mushrooms good enough for a sitting president.

Funny part is that we are at our most malleable when we are young.  Yet we all too often pass on the chance to create a transcontinental palette in our children due to some queasy look they had at some misty point in the past.  Rather than keeping a firm hand on the tiller, we retreat for frozen lunch food.  Had Tiger Woods dad asked Tiger at the age of 2 what he thought of golf (remarkably, Earl started Tiger down this avenue before Tiger was two) the mystified look of the baby would have killed the whole venture before it has started.

So nudge them into the culinary unknown. Talk of what they will see in Kyoto and have them try Tempura.  Discuss Gaudi’s grand architecture and order up the Tortilla Espanola.  Before you know it, they will be perusing the menu, calling out combinations they like and what to try next.  And you will have broadened their world well before their first excursion across the ocean

One of Joni Mitchell’s Finest

Watching the 2010 Winter Olympics stirred up a few tangential memories…

When I as in the 8th grade my parents sent me to the “International Music Camp” at International Falls, MN.  I asked them to sign me up for the guitar sessions as I had been taking classical guitar for years. 

Those next 2 weeks were remarkable and unexpected in two ways. 

Remember I was a boy growing up in a Mennonite prairie town: truly pure, straightforward; no school dances; no liquor store.  No one was dating someone else in the 8th grade, unlike today.  My friendships we akin to those in Stephen King’s breathtaking novel Stand By Me.  Clean sublime experiences, not exposed yet to so many of life’s ways.

The camp held 2 surprises.  The 1st: my first crush, to another camper, Brenda Bonogofsky from Carson, North Dakota, and this on its own was enough to make an indelible mark upon me.  I mean, that’s what such initial experiences do, no?  (That is a story for another day.)

The 2nd surprise was discovering such greats as Joni Mitchell, to whom I was introduced thru the pot smoking, laid back but hard rocking teachers of our guitar session.  Classical guitar, this was NOT.  And to my delight.   Boy was I glad my dad didn’t know what he was signing me up for!

I learned that guitars were like fine wines, such as the 12 string Ovation one classmate carried.  We journeyed thru the lyrics of such American poets as Neil Young, Crosby / Stills / Nash, and Joni.   The words were like nothing I had come across before and it’s taken years for their meaning to come into view, starting with long meandering discussions with the instructors, with classmates and Brenda.

Here’s one I just heard at the Olympics’ opening ceremony that I always loved, by the inimitable Ms. Mitchell (video below too):

Both Sides Now
(Joni Mitchell)

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons ev'rywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on ev'ryone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living ev'ry day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Thank you, Joni, my goodness, what words these are.

A Happy Holidays 2009

Happy Holidays from Sidd, Paul, Molly and myself!

This note comes to you from the lush, coastal, southwestern state of Kerala in India, where we have the good fortune of visiting with family and friends on our first long vacation since 2005. I took this shot as we rode an auto-ricksha back to Molly’s Uncle Immanuel’s place. I LOVE autorickshas: on the one hand their itty bitty 2 cycle engines create a disastrous amount of pollution; on the other other hand, you smell, hear, taste, feel and see your excursions in relative comfort like no other vehicle I know of ; and a good driver will patiently snake thru the most remarkably congested traffic - - “seeing” openings created by the moving geometry of buses, cars, lorries, and motorcycles. More abstractly, this particular scene made me think of how we hurtle thru time and life with friends and family in some manner of capsule - - that is, nested in the trappings of our belongings, with our talents, time and more intangible treasures.

The Journey Forward into 2010, Copyright 2009, Abe Pachikara

Coming to America, (cont’d)

A follow-up to this post…

Sometimes one’s pen and paper captures their voice well. All too often what drove the clarity in the writing is a powerful topic. Below is a letter from my dad along with my 1st passport that he dug up and sent to me. The passport was originally needed so I could be chaperoned by an Air India hostess from Cochin, Kerala, India to JFK, NYC in May of 1966. It was shortly before my 4th birthday and it was the 1st time we were meeting, as my dad had left India when my mom was 7 months pregnant to land an elusive surgical residency in the US. My mom joined a couple of years later and I was expertly taken care of by grandparents who had raised a whopping 21 children between them. My dad's letter goes as follows:

Murphsyboro, Oct/31/2009

Dear Santhosh,

Enclosed is your first passport. I remember coming to JFK Airport to take you to Cleveland. I was waiting on a balcony of JFK airport. I saw you coming down the staircase from Air India holding the hand of the air hostess who was assigned to you. You were walking into the airport on the ground. Dr. Sebastian and Shanti were with me at the that time.

When you came out of the customs you were weeping saying “that man took away my peraka” (Goa fruit). Ammachi gave a few Goa fruits to you in a bag to eat on the way. They were grown on the Thodupuzha property. No fruits could be taken into the U.S.A. by law.

I gave you a small electric car and you were very happy. We flew to Cleveland.

Dad

A mountainous moment in my life, to say the least. But arguably a bigger day for the more aware and nuanced parent of the toddler. God bless moms and dads, and the many sacrifices they make for their families’ futures, eh?

My 1st Passport… and Visa…

Why Photography?

In the 4^th grade, my father brought home a used Mamiya Sekor range-finder camera, of all things, from a medical conference.  I never did ask where he picked it up, but he took time on the very day of his arrival to share his thoughts on how photos come to be.  Since then, photography has been a persistent part of my journeys, like a slow burning ember that at times will pop into a flame before returning back to a quiet glow.

But why photography, rather than some other pursuit?  Well, nothing intrigues or delights me more than a photograph’s ability to help us “older folks” notice the nuances in life.  When humans are in their early youth, they are oblivious to time’s passage.  They will spend inordinate volumes of effort to notice details.  These young kunduns will scrutinize like art critics, ponder like philosophers, and dispassionately dismantle anything from food, to insects, to toys to better understand the essence of all the wondrous things around them.  As we grow, movement and pace rise in importance, and we notice less of the interwoven fabric that surrounds us.  The future worries us, the past dismays us and the current moment is ignored too easily.

That is where still images come in.  A camera, a patient eye, a trigger finger and our intuition can arrest the inflection points of the day.  The upshot: a moment’s essence is preserved into the uncharted future.  Later, when we look at a photo from say, 5  or 25 years ago, we cannot but help feel an emotion, be it a smile, frown, or perhaps sadness, seep into our being.   We remember a moment seemingly unnoticed when it occurred.  A narrow element of the photo has served as a key and unlocked a memory deep in the sleepy or introverted corridors our minds and hearts. It may be a distinctive smile, the cut of a dress, a faddish haircut, a long forgotten hangout, or the surrounding people.  All of these remembrances lurch into “motion” and the stories come forth the way a flash flood surges across a parched plain.  In doing so, photos reaffirm the tapestry we are part of.

 

Brothers...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)

Day Dream Proof Zones

Being Catholic, I regularly attend the Saturday or Sunday church service.  The mass has breathtaking consistency regardless where in the world you attend it.  However, the week to week regularity means that I for one, need to vigilantly be ‘in the moment’ so that I don’t wind up thinking of some other notion, conversation, news item or worry that I have.

But at the church in Bellevue, WA where I attend now (St. Louise de Marillac) portions of the service are simply impossible to “miss”.  Here’s one of them: when the parishioners can make an offering, the children present may drop off a food item or a check / cash offering.

It is amazing what happens.

From every direction, children flood into the front.  Some walk.  Most run, jog, skip.  Some trace very clear arcs in their path, and even lean into the curve they are carving.  Some walk in with certain trepidation at first, but gain confidence and verve from their counterparts.  Older siblings literally carry younger ones up and down the shallow steps.

A regular contingent will walk up to say hi to the priest and deacon, and even give brief updates: a new haircut; boo boos on their elbows; something their sister did.  (The priests relish it too.  These are the most vibrant parishioners in their flock.)

And none “go thru the motions”.

There is a passion, an immediacy to their actions.  The volume to this energy is nearly deafening for me.  One has to smile at these kunduns showing us how to carry on.  It is humbling and inspiring at the same time.

 

Taking care of business...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)

Great Risk, Sizeable Reward

Every so often, something (potentially obvious) makes my whole constitution just leap. Here is one of those…

As context, having observed a few weddings, I find that the bone crushing number of details often will squeeze much of the joy and spontaneity out of the event for the very wedding couple and party that it is all about. Furthermore, they can become exercises in conformity. Any detail that is outside "the norm" gets scrutinized, commented, lobbied for back and forth.

(Almost as remarkable is how much of this is invisible to the average attendee. For them all too often it is just a formal function, great food, people you catch up with, and some fun in general.)

Here is a video of a couple who took a great leap outside the norm - I don't know hard or easy that was to pull off with respect to the their extended family. But given that it’s been viewed 27 million times, it has struck a chord with people, both for the rules they broke and the joy thereby created.

I smile from inside when I watch it. The message: just come out with your smiles blazing, your hearts thunderously preempting and assuaging all the hesitations in the audience, and "show, don't tell" them how happy you are.

Let the goodness of life shine thru and engulf all those in its presence.

Prolific Brilliance

Roses stand out from many other flowers in one way I like a lot - they take advantage of the WHOLE summer. From spring until fall, they are industrious like ants, but elegant like orchids. Day in, day out, they just keep sprouting one masterpiece after another. Something I find inspiring. It is akin to the frenzied work of those who leave behind a big footprint, like Van Gogh, Michael Jordan, or Madamme Curie.

We had the good luck that the house we moved into in Redmond had a collection of high end roses planted by a previous owner. Each day a collection of beauts come up.

Head Shot 1...

Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)

Head Shot 2... Head Shot 3...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)

Head Shot 4... Head Shot 5...

Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)

Primal Traditions

Just a very few tendencies seem to need no training or introduction. Sitting around a campfire is one. Funny how you don't need much conversation or other such distraction either.

I first came across this routine when I worked at a camp for physically and mentally handicapped for two mesmerizing summers during my undergrad years. For two summers, 5 nights a week for 10 weeks, people sat around a magical fire, stared, chatted, sang, romanced, laughed, vented and gathered up energy from the crackling, glowing, scintillating jewel in their midst. Oddly the only thing you needed was the fire. All other activity, such as conversation and company, were (and still are) simply nice to haves.

Nowadays, we join a few friends for two camp outings each summer somewhere in the Washington state park system. Each night I so look forward to tying things off with a fire. People gather, crack jokes, emphatically join songs with no worries of harmony. Then you slip into moments of quiet before another raucous round kicks up. Whether you are a moth or human, the magnetic pull of a crackling fire is hard to resist. And when you see how peacefully all ages will sit and stare at a campfire, be it grandparents, or toddlers, you know you are in the company of something ancient and remarkable.


Following Reuben's Lead...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)


Warm Gathering...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)

The Extreme Luxury of Being Huge or Tiny

It is hard to beat non-verbal communication. Consider your standard issue hug - - it has expression within it that is beyond our vocabulary.

A hug by someone 10 times your size - - well, it’s even better, with such features as an ocean of arms and chest, that cozy corner under mom’s chin inside the curve of her neck. It’s the comforting aromas of a grandfather’s shirt or cologne. Time is held at bay. Dissolved into nothingness are all those upsetting elements; again one can know and feel the world is a good place to be.

Giving a hug to someone 1/10th your size is a quantum leap better than the same done to a person of similar dimension as yourself. In one fell swoop, you get to engulf their entire being. Like a super hero who can change dimension, you become protector, consoler, a human blanket and cocoon whisking them away from all that is troubling.

The era for this is fleeting – all too quickly the recipients transition into larger frames, into stages where things are explained more often in words than gestures. The supply of comfort and encouragement is increasingly timebound, in part to groom the younger ones to know how to enter back into the fray. Until one day in the future where the former recipients, despite having no memory of the good actions enjoyed during their infancy, will reverse roles to comfort a new flock of tiny beings.

Connecting...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2004

Chuttumbee 2 Turns 6

One possible measure of how young at heart you are - - how carefully you track your upcoming birthday. Sidd followed his 6th the way the FAA monitors a 777 coming in from London; or how NORAD would have watched an ICBM coming in from Siberia. (I fear I am repeating an earlier post.)

"Only 73 more days left dad...." 18 days later, "Dad, there's only 55 days left to my birthday. Are you watching?"

Well the momentous day came in 3 stages:

• First a party in Atlanta at the house of his cousins Ava and Audrey.
• Then a little shindig at our place on the actual day. But by then he had decided one's "real birthday" actually occurs on the day of the official party.
• So finally we gathered with a few of his friends to go bowling, after which he casually let his brother open the presents for him. Paul did this with all the seriousness and duty of someone processing taxes, though the gleeful gleam in his eyes says that deep inside it was a different story.

I figure in about 8 months, it will be time to track the next incoming big day.


Finally Six Years Old...
Abe Pachikara, Copyright 2009 (click for larger image)